Chapter 12 - Do You Open Doors?
The photographer lifted his camera.
“Okay, everyone. On three.”
Matthew forced his face toward something like a smile.
“One.”
Tyler looked at the floor.
“Two.”
The phone rang.
The sound cut through the office.
Not loud.
Not dramatic.
Just a regular office phone.
A cheap black desk phone donated by a local insurance agency.
One ring.
Two.
Dana laughed softly as she moved behind the desk.
“Perfect timing.”
She picked it up.
“The Open Door Project. This is Dana.”
Matthew watched her because he had learned to watch changes in faces.
That was another thing trauma gave him.
Not a gift.
A consequence.
Dana’s smile disappeared.
Her shoulders stiffened.
The room went quiet before she said anything.
Then she lifted her eyes.
“Matthew.”
He put the scissors down on the nearest chair.
Dana held out the receiver.
Her voice shook.
“It’s a child.”
Everything inside Matthew went cold and focused.
Not the panic of the greenhouse.
Not yet.
Something trained by the five years after.
Therapists.
Hotline protocols.
Meetings with investigators.
Survivor interviews.
Every awful sentence learned because children kept paying for adult certainty.
He crossed the room and took the phone.
“This is Matthew.”
For a few seconds, there was only breathing.
Small.
Fast.
Hiding.
Then a girl whispered, “They said this number was fake.”
Matthew closed his eyes.
The entire office vanished.
No ribbon.
No photographer.
No donors.
No cake by the window.
Only the child on the line.
“No,” he said softly. “It’s real.”
A pause.
Then:
“Do you open doors?”
Behind him, Tyler inhaled sharply.
Owen’s lemonade cup crumpled in his hand.
Matthew kept his own breath steady because children on hidden phones borrow calm from whoever answers.
“Yes,” he said. “We open doors.”
The girl made a sound like she was trying not to cry.
“My name is Nora.”
May you like
“Okay, Nora. I’m glad you called. Are you safe right now?”
“No.”
