No fourteen-year-old girl who had just deleted a public video that told strangers exactly where she lived and when she would be alone.
Just Silas.
Looking rough.
Looking intimidating.
Looking exactly like the kind of man people already wanted an excuse to misunderstand.
Underneath the photo were hundreds of comments.
“Call the police.”
“Why is he standing outside a child’s house?”
“I’ve always said he gave me bad vibes.”
“That scar on his neck tells you everything.”
“Some people should not be working near neighborhoods.”
My hand started shaking so hard I almost dropped the phone.
That scar on his neck tells you everything.
No.
It told them nothing.
Not one thing.
It only told them he had survived something they knew nothing about.
I pushed my chair back so quickly it scraped across the kitchen floor.
“Mara,” I said, “I have to go.”
“Mom, don’t get involved in some internet fight.”
