My son-in-law’s family thought it’d be funny to push my daughter into the icy lake.

The air was still frigid, biting against my skin, as I stood on the edge of the pier. I watched the ambulance disappear down the winding road, taillights blinking into the distance. The echo of laughter still clung to the atmosphere, a haunting reminder of the cruel jest that had spiraled into something far more sinister. The chilling image of Milina submerged beneath the ice lingered in my mind—a vision of fragility and peril.

The fisherman, whose name I would never know, offered a nod before steering his boat back into the mist-laden expanse of the lake. He left without a word, his silent empathy the sole comfort in the aftermath of chaos. I wished I could thank him, express my gratitude for his timely intervention, but the words caught in my throat, tangled in the dense web of emotions.

Alone again, I paced along the shoreline, each step crunching against the frost-hardened ground. My thoughts orbited around Milina. Her laughter, her vivacity, her spark—everything that defined her seemed perilously close to being extinguished. An icy resolve had replaced panic, coursing through my veins with each heartbeat. My brother’s name glowed from the screen, a lifeline to a past I had long tried to leave behind.