Chapter 4
We got home at nine o’clock that night.
A locksmith was waiting for us.
He changed every lock in the house.
Front door.
Back door.
Garage.
Even the gate to the backyard.
Sarah sat in the car the whole time.
She didn’t want to go inside.
I couldn’t blame her.
When the locksmith finished, I helped Sarah into the house.
Everything looked the same.
The furniture.
The pictures on the wall.
The kitchen where it all happened.
But it felt different.
Cold.
Contaminated.
Sarah went straight upstairs to our bedroom.
I followed her.
She sat on the edge of the bed.
“Daniel,” she said quietly. “I need to ask you something. And I need you to be honest.”
“Anything.”
“Did you know? About how she felt? Did you have any idea she would do something like this?”
The question hit me like a punch.
“No. God, no. Sarah, I knew she didn’t like you. I knew she said terrible things. But I never thought… I never imagined she’d try to hurt you. Or the baby.”
Sarah looked away.
“You defended her. So many times. When she’d make comments about my family. About my job. About how I wasn’t ‘good enough.’ You’d say ‘that’s just how she is.’ You’d say she’d come around.”
I sat beside her.
“I was wrong. I was so wrong. I thought if I just gave it time, she’d see how amazing you are. I thought she’d change.”
“People like your mother don’t change, Daniel. They just get better at hiding what they are.”
She was right.
And I’d been too blind to see it.
I thought about all the times I’d made excuses for her.
All the times I’d told Sarah to “just ignore her.”
All the times I’d chosen peace over protecting my wife.
I felt sick.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I’m so sorry I didn’t protect you. I should have seen it. I should have stopped her sooner.”
Sarah leaned her head on my shoulder.
“You didn’t know. None of us did. But we know now. And we’re going to be okay.”
I held her.
But I didn’t feel okay.
I felt like I’d failed.
Failed as a husband.
Failed as a father.
Failed to see the monster living right in front of me.
That night, I didn’t sleep.
I sat in the living room with the lights on.
A baseball bat beside the couch.
I watched the front door.
I watched the windows.
Every creak of the house made me jump.
Every car that passed made my heart race.
Around three in the morning, my phone buzzed.
A text from an unknown number.
I opened it.
“You think you can win against your own mother? You have no idea what I’m capable of. Don’t make me show you.”
I felt my blood turn to ice.
I knew who it was.
Even without a name.
I blocked the number.
But the message stayed with me.
You have no idea what I’m capable of.
The next morning, I called the detective.
Told him about the text.
“We’ll trace it,” he said. “But in the meantime, document everything. Any contact. Any messages. Anything suspicious.”
I hung up.
Sarah came downstairs.
She looked better.
More rested.
But there was a wariness in her eyes that hadn’t been there before.
“Daniel,” she said. “My parents called. They want to come stay with us. For the rest of the pregnancy.”
I thought about it.
Sarah’s parents lived in Houston.
They were good people.
Quiet.
Kind.
Nothing like my mother.
“I think that’s a good idea,” I said.
She nodded.
“I do too. I just… I don’t want to be alone here. Not after everything.”
“I understand. Call them. Tell them to come.”
She called them.
They said they’d be there by afternoon.
I spent the morning installing security cameras.
Front door.
Back door.
Driveway.
Every possible entry point.
I set my phone to alert me the second any of them detected motion.
At one point, I looked out the window.
A car was parked across the street.
An old sedan.
I couldn’t see who was inside.
But it had been there for twenty minutes.
I grabbed the baseball bat.
Walked outside.
As I approached, the car started.
Pulled away.
Turned the corner.
Gone.
I stood there in the driveway.
My heart hammering.
I knew it was her.
Or someone she’d sent.
She was watching us.
That afternoon, Sarah’s parents arrived.
Tom and Linda.
They hugged Sarah tight.
Linda cried when she saw how pale her daughter was.
Tom shook my hand.
His eyes were angry.
“We’re going to take care of her,” he said. “No one is going to hurt our girl again.”
I believed him.
For the first time since I’d caught my mother in that kitchen, I felt like we weren’t alone.
That night, after everyone was asleep, I went through old family photos.
I was looking for something.
Anything that would explain how my mother had become this person.
I found a picture from our wedding day.
Sarah and I, smiling.
Happy.
And in the background, my mother.
She wasn’t smiling.
She was staring at Sarah.
Her eyes cold.
Full of something that looked like hatred.
I’d never noticed it before.
I’d been too happy.
Too in love.
Too blind.
I found another photo.
From Sarah’s baby shower.
My mother was holding a gift.
Smiling for the camera.
But her hands were clenched tight around the box.
Her knuckles white.
I thought about what the detective had said.
That my mother was claiming Sarah knew about the medication.
That it was an arrangement.
It was absurd.
But I knew how convincing my mother could be.
She’d spent my whole life manipulating situations.
Twisting words.
Making herself the victim.
If she decided to play that game in court…
She could make people believe her.
She could destroy Sarah.
I put the photos away.
I went upstairs.
Sarah was sleeping.
Her hand resting on her stomach.
I knelt beside the bed.
I whispered to her belly.
“I promise you, little one. I will protect you. I will protect your mother. No matter what she does. No matter how far she goes. I will stop her.”
But as I stood up and looked out the window, I saw something that made my blood run cold.
A figure standing at the edge of our yard.
Watching the house.
I ran to the window.
Flipped on the outside light.
The figure turned and ran.
But not before I saw the face.
May you like
It wasn’t my mother.
It was my father.
