The living room is dim. Only one lamp glows. Bethany sits frozen on the couch, phone resting in her trembling hands.
FATHER: Call them again.
His voice is calm — but firm. No room for debate.
BETHANY: Dad… I already reported it.
FATHER: Then make them take it seriously.
Bethany inhales slowly. Her thumb presses the screen. The phone begins to ring.
DISPATCHER: Montana Police Department. What is your emergency?
BETHANY: I… I need to update a report. Lynette threatened me.
A pause. The lie settles into the air like smoke.
DISPATCHER: Are you in danger right now?
BETHANY: I’m scared she might come back.
Her father nods in approval.
Across town, Lynette washes dishes quietly. The night is peaceful — until a loud knock shakes the door.
OFFICER: Montana Police. Open the door.
Confusion floods her face.
LYNETTE: Is something wrong?
OFFICER: We received a complaint. You’re being accused of making threats.
LYNETTE: That’s not true.
Handcuffs click softly. Neighbors peek through curtains. The cold Montana air bites sharply.
LYNETTE: You’re arresting the wrong person.
The patrol car door shuts.
Back in the quiet living room, Bethany hears distant sirens.
BETHANY: They’ll really arrest her…
FATHER: If she’s innocent, she’ll be fine.
But Bethany’s reflection in the dark window looks unfamiliar — almost guilty.
Outside, snow begins to fall. Soft. Silent. Covering the truth beneath a layer of white.