Chapter 2: Seven Months of Lies
Dad looked as if someone had punched him.
“What did you say?””
Mom tried to stand.
Her knees buckled.
Dad caught her automatically.
She recoiled.
“Don’t.””
His hands dropped.
“Claire…”
“I said don’t touch me.””
I had never heard Mom speak to Dad that way.
One of the servers stepped forward.
“Should I call an ambulance?””
“Yes,” Dad said.
“No police,” Mom said immediately.
Everyone stared at her.
Dad frowned.
“Claire, you were locked inside a room.””
“I know.””
“Then I’m calling the police.””
Mom gripped my shoulder.
“Not until you see what she has.””
“What who has?””
“Vanessa.””
Dad stared at her.
Mom looked at the employees.
“Can we go somewhere private?””
The kitchen manager unlocked the office across the hall.
Dad helped Mom toward it without touching her.
I stayed glued to her side.
Inside, Mom sat on a small couch.
I climbed beside her.
Dad shut the door.
“Start talking.””
Mom looked at him for a long time.
“You really believed I abandoned Emma?””
Dad’s jaw tightened.
“You left.””
“No. I disappeared.””
“You packed clothes.””
“I packed one overnight bag.””
“You emptied your account.””
Mom blinked.
“What?””
“Our joint savings. Eleven thousand dollars.””
“I never touched it.””
Dad stared at her.
Mom stared back.
Something frightened passed between them.
Then she asked, “Who told you I did?””
Dad didn’t answer.
He didn’t need to.
“Vanessa,” Mom whispered.
Dad paced away.
“She showed me the withdrawal.””
“Did she show you a bank statement?””
“She showed me a screenshot.””
Mom gave a bitter little laugh.
“A screenshot.””
“Claire, you sent me a message saying you needed to get away.””
“I sent you a message saying we needed to talk.””
“No. You said, ‘Don’t look for me.’”
“I never wrote that.””
Dad stopped pacing.
I watched his face.
For months, he had looked sad whenever I mentioned Mom.
Now that sadness was changing into something else.
Fear.
Mom took the old phone from me.
“This is why I came here.””
She opened the call history.
“I bought a prepaid phone this morning. Vanessa took it when she locked me inside, but she didn’t know I had an older one in my coat.””
Dad whispered, “Locked you inside because of what?””
Mom looked toward the office door.
“Because I found proof.””
“Proof of what?””
“That someone had been accessing my email after I disappeared.””
Dad shook his head.
“Wait. Where have you been?””
Mom’s expression collapsed.
“For the first two weeks? A motel outside Springfield.””
“You were free?””
“Yes.””
Dad recoiled as though that answer hurt more.
“You left us.””
“I left you.””
Her voice trembled.
“Not Emma.””
I squeezed her hand.
Mom continued.
“We had that horrible fight. You accused me of trying to ruin your investment in this restaurant. I was angry. I needed one night away.””
“One night became seven months.””
“Because when I tried calling Emma the next morning, my number was blocked.””
Dad frowned.
“I never blocked you.””
“I know that now.””
She looked down.
“I called your phone. Blocked. The house. Disconnected.
I emailed. No reply. Then I received a message from you.””
“What message?””
Mom’s eyes lifted.
“One telling me that if I came near Emma, you’d file for emergency custody and tell the court I was unstable.””
Dad went white.
“I never sent that.””
“I know.””
“Claire, I swear—”
“I KNOW.””
Silence filled the room.
Mom wiped her eyes.
“I was furious. Terrified. And stupid. I thought you were punishing me.””
Dad sat across from us.
“Why didn’t you go to the police?””
“I did.””
That answer surprised him.
Mom continued, “They told me a custody threat between married parents wasn’t kidnapping. They advised me to get a lawyer.””
“So why didn’t you?””
“I tried.””
She looked at me.
“And then things got worse.””
My stomach tightened.
“What happened, Mommy?””
Mom touched my cheek.
“I started receiving pictures of you.””
Dad stood abruptly.
“What?””
“Walking into school. Playing outside. Sleeping.””
Dad’s face changed.
“Sleeping where?””
“In your bedroom.””
I felt Mom’s hand tremble.
Dad whispered, “Who sent them?””
“Unknown numbers.””
“What did they say?””
Mom hesitated.
Then she spoke quietly.
“Stay gone, or Emma pays for your mistake.””
Dad knocked a chair backward.
“Jesus Christ.””
“I believed you were sending them.””
“How could you believe that?””
“Because every message included things only someone close to you would know!””
Dad stopped.
Mom pulled something from her coat pocket.
A folded sheet of paper.
She placed it on the desk.
“I finally realized you weren’t behind it three weeks ago.””
“How?””
“One of the messages mentioned the blue rabbit.””
I knew immediately what she meant.
My stuffed rabbit.
The one I had lost at Vanessa’s restaurant.
Dad frowned.
“What about it?””
“The message said Emma still sleeps with her blue rabbit.””
“But she lost it.””
“Exactly.””
Mom leaned forward.
“She lost it here.””
Dad stared at her.
“And two days later,” Mom said, “the person threatening me described it as sitting beside Emma’s pillow.””
My skin prickled.
“But Bunny came back,” I whispered.
Dad looked at me.
“What?””
“Vanessa found him.””
Mom closed her eyes.
Dad slowly sat down.
I remembered Vanessa bringing Bunny to our house.
She had smiled when she handed him to me.
“Look what I rescued.””
Dad’s breathing grew heavier.
Mom continued.
“I started tracing everything. The fake emails. The blocked numbers. The bank withdrawal.””
“You found who did it?””
“I found where some of it came from.””
Dad stared toward the door.
“This restaurant?””
Mom nodded.
“Vanessa’s office computer.””
Dad stood.
“Then we’re calling the police now.””
Mom caught his sleeve.
“Daniel, there’s something else.””
“What?””
“She knew I was coming today.””
“How?””
“I emailed you this morning.””
Dad pulled out his phone.
“There’s nothing from you.””
“Check your deleted folder.””
He did.
His thumb stopped moving.
Mom whispered, “You see it?””
Dad looked up.
His face had turned gray.
“There’s an email from you.””
“What time?””
“9:14.””
“And when was it deleted?””
Dad tapped the screen.
“9:17.””
Mom asked the obvious question.
“Where were you at 9:17?””
Dad looked toward the wall separating the office from the restaurant.
“Here.””
“Was Vanessa near your phone?””
He didn’t answer.
He didn’t need to.
Suddenly there was a loud crash outside.
Dad opened the office door.
“Stay here.””
Mom stood anyway.
We stepped into the hallway.
The kitchen manager was staring toward the back exit.
“What happened?”” Dad demanded.
The man pointed.
“Vanessa left.””
Dad cursed and reached for his phone.
But Mom was staring at the open storage room.
Her face changed.
“No.””
She rushed inside.
“Claire?””
Mom dropped to her knees beside an empty shelf.
She started throwing aside cardboard boxes.
“No, no, no.””
“What are you looking for?””
“A black binder.””
Dad entered behind her.
“What binder?””
Mom turned.
“The proof.””
Her face went white.
“It was here when Vanessa locked me in.””
Dad stared at the empty shelf.
“Then she took it.””
A small voice came from the doorway.
“No, she didn’t.””
Everyone turned.
A teenage dishwasher stood there.
He looked terrified.
In his hands was a black binder.
“I saw Ms. Vanessa coming back here before she ran,” he said.
“So I grabbed this first.””
Mom rushed toward him.
“Give it to me.””
He handed it over.
Mom opened the binder.
The first pages contained printed emails.
Then photographs.
Then bank records.
Dad flipped through them.
His hands began shaking.
“What the hell is this?””
Mom turned several pages.
“Keep going.””
Dad did.
Then he stopped.
There was a photograph clipped to a document.
I couldn’t see it from where I stood.
But Dad could.
His face transformed.
“No.””
Mom said nothing.
“No,” Dad repeated.
He looked at her.
“Claire, this can’t be real.””
“What is it?”” I asked.
Neither answered.
Dad slowly turned the photograph around.
It showed Vanessa standing beside a man outside a motel.
I had never seen him before.
But Dad clearly had.
“Who is he?”” I asked.
Dad stared at the photograph.
Then he whispered a name I had heard only once before.
“Michael.””
Mom nodded.
Dad’s eyes filled with disbelief.
May you like
Because Michael wasn’t a stranger.
He was the private investigator Dad had hired seven months earlier to find my mother.
