Daddy's Mercy
David’s finger rested heavy on the trigger. The pistol was steady, barrel pressed right against Elena’s forehead. The room was silent except for the low hum of the air conditioner and Miranda’s small, fast breaths.
“Daddy, wait,” Miranda’s voice cut through the tension like a knife. “Don’t kill her. She didn’t hurt me. She protected me.”
David’s eyes flicked down to his daughter. His face softened instantly, mercy washing over the cold rage. The gun lowered just a little.
“She did?” he asked, voice rough but gentle.
Miranda nodded fast, eyes wide and pleading. “Yes, Daddy. She didn’t let anyone hurt me. She’s not wicked. She gave me food and books and… she held me when I cried. Please don’t kill her.”
David stared at Elena for a long second. Then he looked back at Miran
