Chapter 2: The Room Upstairs
For three seconds, nobody moved.
The refrigerator hummed.
The clock above the kitchen sink ticked.
And Vanessa looked like someone who had just realized a secret she thought was buried had been uncovered.
“What lock?”” I asked again.
Vanessa forced a laugh.
“You’re seriously going to believe an eight-year-old over me?””
I didn’t answer.
Because the truth was, I didn’t know what to believe.
I knew my wife.
At least, I thought I did.
I knew the woman who held my hand during my father’s funeral.
The woman who cried when Emma was born.
The woman who packed my lunches and left notes inside them that said, “Come home safe.””
But I also knew the woman standing in front of me now.
The woman who had thrown away a child’s dinner.
“Daniel,” Vanessa said, lowering her voice.
“Emma has been acting out for months.””
Emma buried her face against my side.
“She’s been sneaking snacks. She’s been disrespectful. She refuses to listen.””
I looked at my daughter.
“Is that true?””
Emma shook her head.
“No.””
Vanessa sighed.
“Of course she says no.””
Something about the way she said it bothered me.
Not anger.
Not sadness.
Control.
Like she had already decided Emma’s words didn’t matter.
I took Emma’s hand.
“Show me the lock.””
Vanessa stepped in front of the stairs.
“No.””
The answer came too quickly.
I stopped.
“What?””
“I said no.””
“Why?””
“Because you’re angry and you’re not thinking clearly.””
I looked at the staircase behind her.
“What’s upstairs?””
“Nothing.””
Emma whispered, “My room.””
Vanessa looked at her.
“Go to your room.””
Emma froze.
I stepped between them.
“No.””
Vanessa’s expression hardened.
“Daniel.””
“No. She stays with me.””
For a moment, neither of us spoke.
Then Vanessa moved aside.
“Fine.””
Her voice was cold.
“Go look.””
I carried Emma upstairs.
The hallway looked exactly the same as it always had.
Family photos lined the walls.
A picture of Emma’s first day of kindergarten.
A picture of Vanessa and me at the beach.
A picture of all three of us smiling at Christmas.
It looked like a happy home.
That was the part that hurt.
Because nothing about the hallway warned me what was behind the doors.
Emma stopped outside her bedroom.
She grabbed my hand.
“Daddy.””
“I’m here.””
“She’ll be mad.””
I knelt down.
“Who?””
“Mommy.””
I looked at her.
“Why?””
Emma stared at the floor.
“Because I’m telling.””
My chest tightened.
“Emma, you can tell me anything.””
She nodded slowly.
Then she opened the door.
Her room looked normal.
A bed.
A stuffed rabbit.
Books on the shelf.
Her drawings taped to the wall.
Then she walked to her closet.
She pushed aside a pile of sweaters.
Behind them was a small metal latch.
My heart dropped.
It wasn’t on the outside of the door.
It was positioned so someone could lock the closet from outside.
I touched it.
“Why is this here?””
Emma whispered, “She puts my things in there.””
“What things?””
“My toys.””
I looked back at Vanessa.
She was standing in the doorway.
“You’re making this sound horrible.””
I turned.
“Because it is.””
“No, it isn’t.””
Vanessa walked into the room.
“She loses privileges when she misbehaves.””
“A lock?””
“It’s a closet, Daniel.””
Emma shook her head.
“She locks me in too.””
The air disappeared from the room.
I looked at Vanessa.
“What?””
Vanessa immediately laughed.
“That’s ridiculous.””
Emma started crying.
“She says I need time to think about what I did.””
I felt something inside me break.
I remembered all the nights I had been away for work.
All the phone calls where Vanessa said, “She misses you, but she’s doing great.””
All the times Emma said, “Mommy is just tired.””
I had believed every word.
Vanessa walked toward Emma.
“She’s confused.””
I moved in front of my daughter.
“Don’t.””
Vanessa stopped.
Her eyes flashed with anger.
“You think I’m some monster?””
“I don’t know what to think.””
“That’s because you’re letting her manipulate you.””
I looked around Emma’s room.
Then I noticed something.
A small camera.
Sitting on the bookshelf.
Facing the bed.
I walked toward it.
Vanessa’s face went pale.
“What is that?”” I asked.
She didn’t answer.
“Vanessa.””
“It’s just a baby monitor.””
“Emma is eight.””
Silence.
I picked it up.
The tiny light was on.
Recording.
May you like
I looked at my wife.
“Why are you recording her?””
