Chapter 3
By sunrise, nobody in our house had slept.
The police took the hidden camera.
They also took photographs of the basement, Lily’s knees and the damaged window.
Lily woke at six and found Mark and me sitting at the kitchen table.
“Did Grandma come back?”
I pulled her onto my lap.
“No.”
She looked toward the basement door.
“Good.”
One word.
Good.
My five-year-old was relieved her grandmother wasn’t nearby.
That told me everything.
At eight, a child welfare investigator named Rachel Monroe arrived.
She was calm, soft-spoken and careful not to make Lily feel interrogated.
She sat on the living-room floor with crayons.
For twenty minutes, they drew pictures.
Then Rachel gently asked about Diane.
I stayed in the kitchen where Lily could still see me.
Mark remained beside me.
“Grandma gets mad when Mommy is gone,” Lily said.
Rachel asked, “What happens when Grandma gets mad?”
Lily colored the roof of a house purple.
“She makes rules.”
“What kind?”
“No talking.”
“Anything else?”
“No crying.”
I covered my mouth.
Rachel continued calmly.
“What happens if you cry?”
“The basement.”
Mark gripped the edge of the counter.
“What do you do downstairs?”
“Sit.”
“For how long?”
“Until Grandma comes back.”
“Do you know how long that is?”
Lily shook her head.
“Sometimes dark.”
My eyes burned.
Rachel paused.
“Was the light ever turned off?”
Lily nodded.
Mark walked out of the kitchen.
He couldn’t stay.
I heard him enter our bedroom upstairs and close the door.
Rachel asked one more question.
“Did Grandma ever record you?”
Lily stopped coloring.
My heart stopped too.
She looked at the basement door.
“She said the camera tells her if I cheat.”
“Cheat how?”
“If I get up.”
Rachel’s expression remained professional.
But her eyes changed.
“Did Grandma tell you not to tell Mommy or Daddy?”
Lily nodded.
“What did she say would happen?”
Lily whispered, “Daddy would leave.”
I turned away before she saw me cry.
After the interview, Rachel asked to speak privately with us.
She didn’t soften the truth.
“This appears to be a pattern, not an isolated incident.”
Mark stared at the table.
“I let her babysit.”
“You didn’t know.”
“I should have.”
Rachel glanced toward the hallway where Lily was playing.
“What matters now is what you do after learning.”
“We want Diane nowhere near her,” I said.
“That is appropriate.”
“Can she be arrested?”
“That depends on the investigation and evidence.”
Mark looked up.
“The notebook disappeared.”
“Police photographed some pages.”
“And the camera?”
“If recordings exist, they could become significant evidence.”
Mark leaned back.
His phone rang.
He ignored it.
Then it rang again.
Unknown number.
He answered.
“Hello?”
I watched his face.
“Who is this?”
Silence.
Then Mark stood.
“Where did you get this number?”
He put the call on speaker.
A man’s distorted voice filled the kitchen.
“Tell your wife to stop.”
My blood went cold.
Mark said, “Stop what?”
“The police.”
“Who are you?”
“If Diane goes down, your family goes with her.”
The call ended.
Rachel was already writing.
“Save that number.”
“It said unknown.”
“Police can still document the threat.”
Mark immediately called the detective assigned to the case.
Within an hour, the situation had changed again.
This was no longer only about Diane abusing Lily.
Someone was threatening us.
The detective, Samuel Grant, arrived shortly before lunch.
He was in his forties, direct and observant.
“Has Diane ever had anyone in your house without permission?”
Mark shook his head.
“Not that we know.”
I thought about the basement camera.
“What about contractors?”
“The renovation at her apartment uses several.”
“Friends?”
Mark hesitated.
“She has a man she’s been seeing.”
That was news to me.
“Since when?”
“Maybe six months.”
“You never told me.”
“She said it wasn’t serious.”
Detective Grant asked, “Name?”
“Victor Hale.”
The detective stopped writing.
“What?”
Mark repeated it.
“Victor Hale.”
Grant looked up.
“You’re certain?”
“Yes.”
“Do you know what he does?”
“Private security, I think.”
Grant closed his notebook.
I felt my pulse increase.
“Why?”
“He used to be a police officer.”
“Used to?”
“He resigned during an internal investigation about nine years ago.”
Mark frowned.
“For what?”
Grant didn’t answer immediately.
“Illegal surveillance.”
The room went silent.
I thought of the tracking device.
The photographs.
The basement camera.
“Oh my God.”
Grant continued.
“He was never convicted. Evidence problems.”
“You think Victor installed the camera?”
“I think we need to find out.”
Mark stood.
“I’m going to Diane’s hotel.”
“No,” Grant said.
“That man recorded my daughter.”
“You don’t know that.”
“He threatened my family.”
“You also don’t know that.”
Mark’s jaw tightened.
Grant stepped closer.
“And if Hale is involved, confronting him is exactly what you should not do.”
Mark looked ready to argue.
Then Lily ran into the room.
“Daddy, look!”
She held up a drawing.
A house.
Three stick figures.
Me.
Mark.
Lily.
No grandmother.
Mark’s anger disappeared.
He knelt and hugged her.
“It’s beautiful.”
After Grant left, we started packing.
Not because we wanted to run.
Because the police recommended Lily stay elsewhere until they understood who had accessed our basement.
My brother Daniel had flown back to Chicago, so we called my parents.
They lived forty minutes away in Worcester.
Mom answered immediately.
When I told her enough to explain, she said only, “Come here.”
We packed two suitcases.
Mark was loading the car when a delivery van pulled up.
A young driver approached with flowers.
“Emily Carter?”
“That’s me.”
He handed me a huge arrangement of white lilies.
My stomach turned.
Lily.
There was a card.
Mark came over.
“Who sent them?”
I opened the envelope.
The message contained five words.
FAMILIES SHOULD KEEP THEIR SECRETS.
Mark grabbed the flowers and threw them into the garbage.
I photographed the card.
Then I called Detective Grant.
He told us not to touch the envelope further.
Police collected it twenty minutes later.
By three, we were finally driving toward my parents’ house.
Lily fell asleep in the backseat.
I watched the mirrors.
Every vehicle felt suspicious.
Every dark SUV made my chest tighten.
Halfway there, Mark said, “We’re being followed.”
I looked back.
A black sedan had stayed behind us through four turns.
“Are you sure?”
“No.”
He changed lanes.
The sedan changed too.
“Call Grant.”
I did.
The dispatcher advised us not to drive to my parents’ address.
Instead, we headed toward a police station.
The sedan remained behind us.
Two blocks before the station, it suddenly turned away.
I caught only part of the plate.
Grant ran it later.
It belonged to a rental agency.
Rented under a fake ID.
That night, my parents surrounded Lily with warmth.
My mother made pancakes for dinner because Lily requested them.
My father let her choose the movie.
For a few hours, our family almost felt normal.
Then Mark received an email.
No sender name.
Subject line:
YOU SHOULD HAVE LISTENED.
Attached was a video.
Mark froze before opening it.
“Don’t.”
“We need to know.”
“Send it to Grant.”
“We will.”
He clicked.
The video lasted eighteen seconds.
It showed our basement.
Lily sat in the small chair facing the wall.
She was crying quietly.
Diane stood behind her.
“Stop crying.”
“I want Mommy.”
“Your mother doesn’t care enough to come home.”
“That’s not true.”
Diane leaned down.
“You want your father to leave her?”
“No.”
“Then sit still.”
The video ended.
I couldn’t breathe.
Mark slammed the laptop shut.
My father stood from across the room.
“What was that?”
Mark’s voice shook.
“My mother.”
Lily was upstairs with my mother.
Thank God.
I called Detective Grant.
He asked us to forward the email without altering anything.
Minutes later another arrived.
This time there was no video.
Only text.
ONE VIDEO FOR EVERY LIE DIANE TELLS.
Mark stared at the message.
“What does that mean?”
I didn’t know.
Then a third email appeared.
Subject:
ASK YOUR HUSBAND ABOUT HIS FATHER.
I looked at Mark.
His face had gone white.
“What about your father?”
“I don’t know.”
“You look like you know something.”
“I don’t.”
“Mark.”
He stood.
“My father died when I was sixteen.”
“I know.”
“He fell from the roof of our old house.”
“Yes.”
“At least that’s what Mom always said.”
I stared at him.
“What are you saying?”
He walked toward the window.
“I was home that night.”
My father and I waited.
Mark’s voice lowered.
“I heard them arguing.”
“Your parents?”
“Yes.”
“About what?”
“I never knew.”
He turned toward me.
“But my father didn’t go onto the roof to fix anything.”
I felt the room become colder.
“Then why was he up there?”
May you like
Mark swallowed.
“Because my mother followed him.”
