When I came back, the house was empty. The silence screamed. The living room was still, shadows stretched across the floor. I froze, listening. My daughter was gone.

I had asked my brother to watch her for a few hours. I didn’t want to—didn’t trust him—but I had no choice. The sitter canceled, my neighbor was away. He said he’d changed. No more drinking. I wanted to believe him.

I opened the door to a spotless house. No toys, no cartoons, not even Flopsy, her stuffed rabbit. I called for them. Nothing. Panic set in. I ran upstairs. Empty bathroom. Her room a mess, as if someone had left in a hurry.

Then—keys at the front door. I flew downstairs. Jamie stood there, holding Lila in a blanket. She was asleep. He looked pale. “She had a seizure,” he said. No phone. No time. He’d rushed her to the ER. She was safe now. My brother hadn’t failed me—he’d saved her. For the first time, I saw him not as the broken brother I feared… but as the uncle she might one day adore.