Chapter 2
Mark carried the black notebook upstairs like it was evidence from a crime scene.
Maybe it was.
Neither of us spoke until Lily finished eating.
She sat between us at the kitchen island with a bowl of macaroni and cheese, eating too quickly.
“Slow down, baby,” I whispered.
She nodded.
Then she kept eating fast.
That frightened me almost as much as the notebook.
Mark had placed it on the counter but refused to open it again while Lily was in the room.
His phone vibrated every few minutes.
Diane.
He ignored every call.
Finally, Lily put down her fork.
“My tummy hurts.”
“You ate too fast,” I said.
“Am I in trouble?”
My heart cracked.
“No.”
Her eyes filled.
“Grandma says wasting food is stealing.”
Mark closed his eyes.
I lifted Lily from the stool.
“You are never in trouble for being full.”
“Promise?”
“Promise.”
Mark walked over and crouched beside us.
“And Grandma doesn’t make rules in this house anymore.”
Lily studied his face.
“She’ll come back.”
“No.”
“She always comes back.”
Mark looked at me.
There was fear in his eyes now.
“What do you mean, sweetheart?”
Lily twisted the hem of her shirt.
“Grandma told me you tried to make her leave before.”
I felt my stomach tighten.
Mark shook his head.
“I never did.”
“She said Mommy wanted her gone and you said no.”
Mark looked at me.
I knew exactly what Diane had been doing.
She had been building a story inside our daughter’s head.
A story where Mark belonged to Diane.
Where I was weak.
Where Diane always won.
I carried Lily upstairs and helped her take a bath.
There were faint red marks across both knees.
I photographed them.
Then I found a small bruise near her elbow.
“What happened here?”
Lily became quiet.
“Grandma.”
“How?”
“She grabbed me because I ran.”
I swallowed the anger rising in my throat.
“Where were you running?”
“To call you.”
She pointed toward my bedroom.
“My phone was charging.”
I kissed her forehead.
“You did nothing wrong.”
After putting Lily in our bed with her favorite cartoon, I returned downstairs.
Mark had opened the notebook.
He looked sick.
“Emily.”
I sat across from him.
“What?”
He pushed the notebook toward me.
The entries were written in Diane’s neat handwriting.
May 4.
Lily refused to clean spilled cereal. Ten minutes facing wall.
May 11.
Talking back. No dessert.
May 18.
Crying for Emily. Thirty minutes in basement.
June 2.
Would not kiss Grandma. Took doll away.
June 14.
Refused foot rub. No snack.
The dates continued.
Some went back almost a year.
I stared at Mark.
“She’s been doing this when she babysits.”
He nodded.
“We trusted her.”
“I trusted you when you said she was difficult but harmless.”
His face tightened.
“I know.”
“Every time I said she was too controlling, you told me she loved Lily.”
“I know.”
“Every time she ignored my rules—”
“I know, Emily.”
His voice broke.
He stood and walked away from the counter.
“I know.”
I hated seeing him hurting.
But I was hurting too.
“You kept asking me to give her chances.”
“I thought she was rude. I didn’t know she was doing this.”
“You didn’t want to know.”
He turned.
That landed.
I could see it.
“You’re right.”
I hadn’t expected him to say that.
He rubbed both hands over his face.
“I spent my whole life making excuses for her because that’s what Dad did.”
I said nothing.
“When she screamed, he called her stressed. When she insulted people, he called her honest. When she controlled everything, he called her protective.”
Mark looked toward the stairs.
“And I became him.”
“You’re not your father.”
“I almost was.”
His phone rang again.
This time the screen showed UNKNOWN.
Mark answered.
“Hello?”
A man spoke.
Mark’s expression changed.
“Yes, this is Mark.”
He listened.
Then looked at me.
“Where?”
Another pause.
“We’ll be here.”
He hung up.
“Police.”
My pulse jumped.
“They’re coming?”
“Diane called them.”
Of course she did.
“What did she say?”
“She says you assaulted her and I threw her from the house.”
I laughed once.
Not because it was funny.
Because it was exactly what I should have expected.
Fifteen minutes later, two officers arrived.
Diane returned with them.
She stood on the sidewalk wearing sunglasses even though the sun was fading.
A red mark still showed faintly on her cheek.
One officer asked us to speak separately.
I told him everything.
I showed him the marks on Lily’s knees.
Then the notebook.
His expression changed immediately.
“Where did you get this?”
“Basement storage cabinet.”
“Who wrote it?”
“My mother-in-law.”
“Are you sure?”
Mark stepped forward.
“I’ve seen her handwriting my entire life.”
Diane shouted from the porch.
“That notebook is private!”
Everyone turned.
The officer looked at her.
“So it belongs to you?”
Diane froze.
I almost smiled.
Almost.
The officer carried the notebook toward his partner.
Diane ripped off her sunglasses.
“That woman hit me first!”
I stepped toward the doorway.
“After I found my five-year-old kneeling at your feet because you refused to feed her.”
“She was being disciplined.”
One officer said quietly, “Ma’am, I suggest you stop talking.”
Diane looked furious.
“I know my rights.”
“Then exercise your right to remain silent.”
Mark actually looked shocked.
Diane pointed at me.
“She poisoned my son against me.”
Mark moved between us.
“No, Mom. I watched you attack her.”
“You slapped me.”
“After you raised your hand to hit me.”
“I would never hurt you.”
Mark stared at her.
“You already did.”
Something shifted in Diane’s face.
For a second she looked less angry.
More frightened.
Then she said, “You have no idea what Emily has been doing behind your back.”
I frowned.
“What are you talking about?”
She smiled at me.
There it was.
The old Diane.
The woman who always needed one more weapon.
“Ask your wife where she goes every Thursday.”
Mark looked at me.
I felt confusion rather than fear.
“Work.”
Diane laughed.
“No.”
“Mom, stop.”
“She has been meeting a man.”
I stared at her.
“What?”
“I’ve seen them.”
“You’re lying.”
“Am I?”
She pulled out her phone.
One officer tried to stop her.
“I’m showing my son evidence.”
Diane tapped the screen and held it toward Mark.
A photograph appeared.
It showed me sitting at a café with a man.
Mark looked at me.
I recognized the man instantly.
So did he.
“My brother?” I said.
Diane’s smile faltered.
Mark stared.
“That’s Daniel.”
“My brother was visiting from Chicago.”
I almost couldn’t believe her desperation.
Diane swiped to another picture.
Then another.
All of me and Daniel.
“You followed my wife?”
Mark asked.
“No.”
“You took pictures of her.”
“I was protecting you.”
“From her brother?”
“I didn’t know who he was.”
“You’ve met Daniel.”
Diane stopped.
She had.
At our wedding.
And twice after that.
The officer took a step closer.
“Mrs. Cooper, were you regularly monitoring your daughter-in-law?”
Diane’s face tightened.
“I was making sure my granddaughter was safe.”
I suddenly remembered something.
The missing spare key.
The strange times Diane knew where I had been.
The afternoon she mentioned a grocery store I had never told her I visited.
My skin went cold.
“Mark.”
He looked at me.
“Remember when my car said an unknown tracking device was nearby?”
His eyes widened.
“That was months ago.”
Diane looked away.
The officer noticed.
“Mrs. Cooper?”
“I don’t know anything about that.”
I stepped toward her.
“Did you put a tracker on my car?”
“No.”
“Did you?”
“No!”
Her voice was too sharp.
The officer asked, “Would you consent to us checking your phone?”
“No.”
That answered enough for me.
After almost an hour, the officers told Diane she could not reenter the house that night.
They advised us to document everything and contact child protective services because of Lily’s statements.
Diane stood near her car.
Before leaving, she looked at Mark.
“You’ll regret choosing her.”
Mark’s expression hardened.
“I’m choosing my daughter.”
“I gave you everything.”
“And now you think that means you own me.”
“You’ll come back.”
“No.”
She smiled strangely.
“You always do.”
Then she got into her car.
The police left behind her.
I locked the door.
Mark checked every window.
Then he went downstairs and removed the child-sized chair from the cabinet.
He carried it outside and left it beside the trash cans.
At eleven that night, Lily finally fell asleep between us.
Mark sat awake.
So did I.
At 12:17 a.m., our security system sent an alert.
BASEMENT WINDOW OPEN.
Mark jumped from bed.
I grabbed my phone.
“Don’t go alone.”
He took the baseball bat from the closet.
We moved downstairs carefully.
The basement door was still closed.
Another notification appeared.
MOTION DETECTED—BASEMENT.
Mark whispered, “Call the police.”
I dialed.
He opened the basement door.
We heard something below.
A scraping sound.
Then footsteps.
Mark turned on the stair light.
A shadow moved across the wall.
“Who’s there?”
Silence.
Then a figure rushed toward the back window.
Mark ran down.
I followed halfway.
“Stop!”
The person disappeared through the open window.
Mark reached it seconds later.
“Gone.”
Police arrived quickly.
They searched the yard.
Nothing.
But when we checked the storage cabinet, the black notebook was missing.
I stared at the empty shelf.
“That’s what they came for.”
Mark shook his head.
“The police photographed several pages earlier.”
“Diane knows that?”
“I don’t know.”
One officer walked over holding something in a gloved hand.
“Sir?”
Mark turned.
The officer held a small electronic device.
“We found this taped under the desk near the basement stairs.”
“What is it?”
“A camera.”
I felt sick.
The officer looked toward the cabinet where Lily had been forced to sit.
“It was pointed directly at that chair.”
Mark went pale.
Then the officer added something that changed everything.
“This model can upload recordings remotely.”
I stared at him.
“So whoever installed it may have videos?”
“Yes.”
“Of Lily?”
He nodded.
“Potentially.”
Mark clenched his jaw.
The officer examined the device again.
“There’s one more problem.”
“What?”
“It’s still connected.”
“To what?”
May you like
He looked at the tiny blinking light.
“To someone’s network.”
