Chapter 6
I felt cold all over.
“Following us?”
Michael nodded.
“How do you know?”
“Because she told me.”
“When?”
“Yesterday.”
“Why would she admit that?”
“She was angry. She wanted me to believe she knew Emma better than you did.”
I stared at him.
“What exactly did she say?”
Michael looked toward Karen.
She nodded for him to continue.
“She said she watched your routine after Sarah died.”
My stomach turned.
“What routine?”
“Daycare drop-offs. Your office. Your mother’s house. The park you took Emma to on Sundays.”
I remembered that park.
Emma had been two.
She loved the swings.
Every Sunday morning, I pushed her until my arms hurt because she’d scream, “Higher, Daddy!”
Sometimes I noticed the same woman jogging nearby.
Blonde ponytail.
Sunglasses.
I couldn’t remember her face clearly.
Rachel had worn her hair dark when we met.
Could it have been her?
“Did Rachel say why?”
Michael answered carefully.
“She said she wanted to see whether Sarah had been right about you.”
“Right about what?”
“That you were a good father.”
I laughed without humor.
“So she stalked us as research?”
“She didn’t use that word.”
“What word did she use?”
Michael hesitated.
“Preparation.”
Karen’s pen stopped moving.
“Preparation for what?”
“She wouldn’t say.”
I leaned back.
My heart was pounding.
I wanted the conversation to end.
I wanted to go back twenty-four hours and erase everything I had learned.
But I couldn’t.
“Keep talking.”
Michael looked uncomfortable.
“She knew where you worked. What coffee shop you used. What charity events you attended.”
“The auction.”
“Yes.”
“She planned it.”
“Yes.”
“And then she married me.”
“Yes.”
I rubbed both hands over my face.
Karen spoke.
“Michael, do you have proof of these statements?”
He pulled out his phone.
“I recorded our call.”
I looked up sharply.
“You recorded Rachel?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because she sounded unstable.”
“Play it.”
Karen raised a hand.
“Send me the original file first.”
Michael did.
Then he pressed play.
Rachel’s voice filled the conference room.
“She was never supposed to keep that child.”
Michael’s voice answered.
“What are you talking about?”
“Sarah told you she ended it.”
“She told me yesterday Emma may be mine.”
“She lied to everybody. That was her talent.”
“Rachel, why are you calling me after seven years?”
“Because Daniel has turned Emma against me.”
My jaw clenched.
Michael’s recorded voice sounded confused.
“I’ve never met Daniel.”
“You don’t need to. He works constantly. He barely knows what happens in his own house.”
That hurt because there was truth buried inside the lie.
Then Rachel said:
“I did everything. Breakfast. School. Laundry. Bedtime. I tried to fix what Sarah left behind.”
Michael asked, “What do you mean, fix?”
Rachel laughed.
“She made that child worship her.”
“Rachel, she was Emma’s mother.”
“She was poison.”
The recording went silent for several seconds.
Then Michael said, “How did you even meet Daniel?”
Rachel’s answer made my skin crawl.
“I studied him.”
Michael swore.
“You what?”
“I watched him for months. I needed to know if Sarah had lied about him too.”
“Rachel, that’s stalking.”
“I needed to understand what she chose.”
“What she chose?”
“Yes.”
“Over what?”
Rachel’s voice became quieter.
“Over me.”
I looked at Michael.
He stopped the recording.
“There’s more.”
“I heard enough.”
“You need to hear the part about Emma.”
My stomach clenched.
“Play it.”
He resumed.
Michael asked, “Did you hurt her?”
Rachel’s response was immediate.
“No.”
“Then why are you worried Daniel is going to the police?”
“He exaggerates.”
“What did you do?”
“I disciplined her.”
“How?”
Silence.
“Rachel?”
“She wouldn’t stop talking about Sarah.”
“So?”
“So I taught her that Sarah was gone.”
“How?”
Another silence.
Then Rachel snapped.
“You don’t understand. She would sit at the table and say, ‘Mommy made pancakes better.’ She’d say, ‘Mommy sang this song.’ She’d ask Daniel to tell Sarah stories while I was sitting right there.”
“She’s a little girl.”
“She was doing it deliberately.”
“No six-year-old is running a psychological campaign against you.”
Rachel shouted, “You weren’t there!”
The recording became quiet.
Then she said something that left me frozen.
“I needed her to stop loving Sarah so there would be room for me.”
Michael stopped the file.
No one spoke.
Karen finally said, “I want a copy preserved in multiple locations.”
“I sent it.”
“Good.”
I stood.
“I need to go.”
Karen looked at me.
“Daniel.”
“I need to see Emma.”
“I understand.”
Michael stood too.
“I’m sorry.”
I turned toward him.
There were a hundred things I wanted to say.
None would help.
“Do not contact Emma.”
He nodded.
“Okay.”
“Do not come to Mom’s house.”
“Okay.”
“Do not show up at her school.”
“I won’t.”
“If you believe you have rights, talk to your lawyer.”
His face tightened at the word rights.
“I told you, I’m not trying to take her.”
“Then prove that by giving her space.”
He nodded again.
“I will.”
I headed for the door.
“Daniel.”
I stopped.
Michael looked at me.
“For what it’s worth, Sarah wrote about you constantly.”
I didn’t want to hear it.
But I couldn’t leave.
“What did she say?”
“That you were the best thing that ever happened to Emma.”
My throat tightened.
“She said the worst thing she ever did to you was take away your right to choose whether to raise another man’s child.”
I turned away.
“She was afraid if she told you, she’d lose both of you.”
That made me angry.
“She should have trusted me.”
“Yes.”
I looked back.
“She should have trusted me enough to let me choose.”
Michael nodded.
“You’re right.”
I left.
At Mom’s house, Emma was building a blanket fort.
She grinned when I walked in.
“Daddy! You have to crawl.”
I dropped to my knees.
For the next hour, I crawled through a fort made of dining chairs, blankets, and couch cushions.
Emma served me invisible soup.
Bunny got married to a stuffed dinosaur.
Grandma was declared queen.
For sixty minutes, there was no Rachel.
No Michael.
No Sarah’s secrets.
Just Emma.
That evening, she asked if we could go home.
The question caught me off guard.
“Our house?”
She nodded.
“To get my purple blanket.”
“I can get it for you.”
“I want to see my room.”
I hesitated.
Rachel was still there.
“No, sweetheart.”
Her face fell.
“Because Rachel’s there?”
“Yes.”
“Is she mad?”
“Probably.”
Emma looked down.
“Then don’t go.”
“I won’t go alone.”
Her eyes widened.
“You’re going?”
“Eventually. We need clothes and some things.”
She hugged my arm.
“Don’t drink tea.”
I frowned.
“What?”
“Don’t drink anything Rachel gives you.”
My skin prickled.
“Why?”
Emma immediately looked scared.
“Nothing.”
“Sweetheart.”
“I’m not supposed to tell.”
“You can tell me anything.”
She looked toward Mom.
Then whispered, “Rachel puts sleepy medicine in your tea sometimes.”
Everything inside me stopped.
“What sleepy medicine?”
“The little white ones.”
“Whose medicine?”
“I don’t know.”
“What happens after?”
“You get tired.”
I remembered nights when Rachel made tea after dinner.
Nights I fell asleep on the couch unexpectedly.
I had blamed work.
I crouched.
“How many times did you see this?”
Emma counted on her fingers.
“A lot.”
“Did she ever give it to you?”
Emma shook her head.
Then paused.
“Only once.”
My stomach dropped.
“What happened?”
“I slept a long time.”
“When?”
She thought.
“The day I missed Grandma’s birthday.”
I remembered that day.
Rachel said Emma had a stomach virus.
She slept nearly fourteen hours.
I had checked her temperature.
No fever.
Rachel insisted she needed rest.
I stood.
Mom saw my face.
“What?”
I told her.
She covered her mouth.
I called Officer Ruiz.
Within an hour, everything changed again.
Ruiz asked whether I still had any medication bottles at the house.
I didn’t know.
She told me not to search.
Police could request access depending on the investigation.
Then she asked Emma a few questions by phone.
Afterward, she said, “Daniel, this significantly escalates our concern.”
“Could Rachel be arrested?”
“I can’t promise what will happen.”
“What do I do?”
“Keep Emma with you. Do not consume anything from the residence. Do not confront Rachel about medication.”
I agreed.
The next morning, police contacted Rachel.
By noon, they had entered the house with her consent.
Apparently she believed the search would clear her.
Instead, Officer Ruiz called me at three.
“We found prescription sleep medication.”
“Rachel’s?”
“No.”
“Whose?”
“Your name is on the bottle.”
I frowned.
“I don’t take sleeping pills.”
“The prescription was issued eighteen months ago.”
“I never got a prescription.”
“We’re checking that.”
My mouth went dry.
“Where was it?”
“Kitchen cabinet behind several boxes.”
“How many pills?”
“The bottle originally contained ninety.”
“And now?”
“Eleven.”
I sat down.
“Eighteen months?”
“Yes.”
I tried to remember.
Doctor appointments.
Annual physicals.
Urgent care.
Nothing.
Then I remembered something.
Rachel worked in medical billing before we married.
She knew clinics.
Insurance systems.
Pharmacies.
“Could she have gotten it under my name?”
“We’re investigating.”
I looked at Emma playing outside.
My hands shook.
“What happens now?”
Ruiz exhaled.
“We also found something else.”
I closed my eyes.
Every time someone said that, my life became worse.
“What?”
“A folder in Rachel’s desk.”
“What kind of folder?”
“Photographs.”
“Of what?”
“You.”
My stomach dropped.
“And Emma.”
“How old?”
“Some appear to be from before you met Rachel.”
I said nothing.
Ruiz continued.
“Daniel, several photographs were taken through windows.”
My skin crawled.
“Our old apartment?”
“Yes.”
“And there’s one more item.”
“What?”
“A printed copy of Sarah’s obituary.”
I waited.
Ruiz’s voice became quieter.
“Across the top, Rachel wrote a date.”
“What date?”
“The day she first approached you at the charity auction.”
My throat tightened.
“What else did she write?”
Ruiz paused.
“One sentence.”
May you like
“What?”
“Now I get my family back.”
