Chapter 7: The Diary Hidden For Six Years
The words stayed in my head long after Detective Morgan stopped talking.
“We found Emma’s missing diary.””
I stood frozen in the hallway, staring at the wall while Lily watched me from her bed.
A diary.
A child’s diary.
Something written by a little girl who had been trying to tell someone the truth.
“Where is it?”” I asked.
“At the station,” Detective Morgan replied.
“We need you to come in.””
“Does Rebecca know?””
A pause.
“No.””
I looked toward the staircase.
For the first time since I met my wife, I wondered how much of my life had been built on carefully hidden secrets.
“I’ll be there.””
After I hung up, Lily reached for my hand.
“Was it bad?””
I sat beside her.
“I don’t know yet.””
She looked scared.
“Are you going to find out?””
I squeezed her fingers.
“Yes.””
That was the one promise I could make.
No more ignoring.
No more believing the easiest explanation.
The next morning, Detective Morgan placed the diary on the table between us.
It was small.
Purple.
The edges were worn.
A child’s handwriting covered the front.
Emma’s Diary.
I stared at the name.
“How did you find it?””
Detective Morgan folded his hands.
“The storage unit belonged to Rebecca’s sister. After reviewing the evidence, we searched every container connected to her.””
He looked at the diary.
“It was hidden inside a sealed box behind old furniture.””
“Why would someone hide it?””
The detective didn’t answer immediately.
“Daniel, before you read this, understand something.””
“What?””
“Some parts may be difficult.””
I nodded.
“I need to know.””
He slid it toward me.
The first pages were drawings.
Flowers.
Animals.
A family.
Normal things.
Then the entries started.
The first one made my chest tighten.
April 12.
Today Mommy said I need to stop crying when I get scared.
She said crying makes people think I’m weak.
I turned the page.
April 18.
I tried to be good today.
I didn’t ask questions.
I didn’t talk back.
I still made her angry.
My fingers shook.
I turned another page.
May 2.
Mommy says nobody believes children who tell stories.
I stopped reading.
The room felt smaller.
Detective Morgan watched me carefully.
“Keep going.””
I looked at him.
“How long?””
“She wrote for almost a year.””
I swallowed.
A year.
A child documenting her fear because she had nowhere else to put it.
I continued.
May 15.
I told the counselor I was scared.
Mommy found out.
She said counselors make families break apart.
June 1.
Mommy said I remind her of her mistakes.
I stared at that sentence.
Her mistakes.
Not Emma’s.
Rebecca’s.
I flipped faster.
The handwriting became messier.
July 9.
Mommy locked me in the laundry room.
She said I needed to learn what being alone feels like.
August 21.
I heard Mommy talking about a little girl named Lily.
I froze.
My eyes moved back to the detective.
“Lily?””
He nodded.
“Keep reading.””
My hands went cold.
The entry continued.
Mommy said she found a new family.
She said this time she would do everything right.
But I know what happens when Mommy gets angry.
I know she says sorry after.
Then she does it again.
I closed the diary.
I couldn’t breathe.
“She knew about Lily?””
Detective Morgan nodded.
“Rebecca started dating you shortly after this entry.””
I looked down.
A terrifying thought entered my mind.
Rebecca didn’t just hurt Lily after becoming her stepmother.
She had chosen Lily.
Because Lily was a second chance.
A second chance to repeat everything.
“Why didn’t Emma’s diary come out before?””
Detective Morgan looked uncomfortable.
“Because Rebecca told everyone Emma destroyed things. She claimed the diary was just another attention-seeking behavior.””
My jaw tightened.
“She blamed a child.””
“Yes.””
I opened the diary again.
There were only a few pages left.
The final entry was dated three days before Emma died.
My hands trembled.
Detective Morgan noticed.
“You don’t have to.””
“Yes, I do.””
I read.
Mommy said she wishes I could be more like other kids.
She said maybe she made a mistake choosing me.
I wiped my eyes.
The next line was written smaller.
I hope someone finds this someday.
Because I don’t know how to make her stop.
I closed the diary.
For several seconds, neither of us spoke.
Then Detective Morgan said something that made my blood run cold.
“Daniel, there’s one more thing.””
I looked up.
“What?””
He placed another piece of paper on the table.
“We found this inside the diary.””
It was a newer note.
Not Emma’s handwriting.
My heart sank.
“Who wrote it?””
Detective Morgan looked at me.
“We believe Rebecca did.””
I unfolded it.
May you like
Only one sentence was written.
“I thought I could fix the past. I was wrong.””
