Chapter 2: The Woman on the Screen
Dad set his phone on the kitchen counter and connected it to the small television in the living room.
Melissa followed him, her bare feet making quick, irritated sounds against the hardwood floor.
"Michael, turn that off," she said.
He didn't look at her.
"I just want to see what happened this morning.""
"You can't secretly record people in their own home!""
"It's my house, too.""
"That's not the point!""
Dad selected the recording from 10:17 a.m.
I stood beside the sofa, clutching the sleeves of my sweater. My cheek throbbed, but I barely noticed anymore.
The screen showed the upstairs hallway. The camera's angle included the staircase, the bathroom door, and the entrance to my father's bedroom.
At first, nothing happened.
Then Melissa appeared.
She was wearing the same cream-colored blouse she had on now, and she carried a large brown handbag over her shoulder.
Dad leaned closer.
"That's you leaving for the grocery store," he said.
Melissa nodded too quickly.
"Exactly. So there's nothing to see. Turn it off.""
But Dad kept watching.
At 10:23, Melissa returned to the frame.
She wasn't carrying grocery bags.
She looked down the hallway, glanced toward the staircase, and slipped into her bedroom.
I frowned.
"Didn't you say you were shopping?"" Dad asked.
"I forgot my shopping list.""
"You came back six minutes later?""
"I remembered something else.""
On the screen, Melissa emerged from the bedroom carrying a small envelope.
She looked over her shoulder before descending the stairs.
Dad paused the video.
"What's in the envelope?""
Melissa crossed her arms.
"Probably receipts.""
"You hadn't gone shopping yet.""
"Michael, are you seriously interrogating me because of a camera?""
He ignored her and resumed the recording.
At 10:41, another person appeared at the top of the stairs.
A man.
He wore a dark baseball cap and a gray jacket. His face was partially turned away from the camera, but he walked confidently down the hallway, as if he knew the house.
He stopped outside my father's bedroom.
Then he knocked twice.
Melissa made a strangled sound.
"Stop the video.""
Dad turned toward her.
"Who is that?""
"I don't know.""
The answer came too fast.
On the screen, the bedroom door opened from the inside.
The man entered.
The door closed behind him.
Dad stared at the television.
"You don't know him?""
"No.""
"Then why did he walk straight into our bedroom?""
"How should I know? Maybe he was looking for you!""
Dad's expression hardened.
"I was at work.""
Melissa pressed her fingertips against her forehead.
"This is ridiculous. You have no idea what you're looking at.""
Dad rewound the recording and increased the brightness.
The man emerged eleven minutes later.
This time, he was holding something.
A small black object.
He slipped it into his jacket pocket, checked the hallway, and headed downstairs.
Melissa backed toward the kitchen.
Dad noticed.
"Where are you going?""
"I need some air.""
"We aren't finished.""
"I said I need air!""
Her voice cracked on the last word.
I had never heard Melissa sound like that before. She was usually the loudest person in any room, the one who could turn a simple question into a lecture and a disagreement into a punishment.
Now she seemed to be measuring the distance to the front door.
Dad returned his attention to the screen.
"Let's see what happens next.""
The recording continued.
At 10:56, Melissa came upstairs again.
She entered the bedroom, stayed for less than a minute, and emerged holding the same brown handbag.
Then she walked directly to the staircase.
Dad stopped the video.
"She went back into the bedroom after the man left," he murmured.
Melissa said nothing.
He looked at her.
"Why?""
"Ask him!""
"Who?""
"The man in the video!""
"You just told me you didn't know him.""
Melissa's mouth opened, but no answer came.
I moved closer to Dad.
"Daddy, is that why she said I stole the money?""
He turned toward me.
For the first time that afternoon, I saw something in his eyes that made me want to cry.
He believed me.
"I don't know yet, sweetheart," he said gently.
"But we're going to find out.""
Melissa suddenly lunged for the phone.
"Give me that!""
Dad pulled it away.
"Enough!""
She froze.
He had never spoken to her that way in front of me.
For a moment, the only sound was the television humming softly in the background.
Then Melissa pointed at me.
"She's manipulating you! She always has been. Ever since you married me, she's tried to turn you against me!""
I shook my head.
"I never did anything to you.""
"Shut up!""
"Melissa," Dad warned.
She grabbed her handbag and stormed toward the front door.
"You want to believe a child over your wife? Fine. But don't come crying to me when you realize what she's really like.""
Dad didn't chase her.
Instead, he turned back to the television.
The footage had reached 11:08.
The man in the gray jacket appeared again, this time near the bottom of the stairs.
He looked directly toward the camera.
Then he smiled.
Not a nervous smile. Not the smile of someone who had accidentally wandered into the wrong house.
It was the smile of someone who knew exactly where he was.
Dad leaned toward the screen.
His face went pale.
I had seen that man before.
Not at our house.
In an old photograph tucked inside my father's desk, beside the papers he never let me touch.
I tugged his sleeve.
"Daddy, who is he?""
Dad didn't answer immediately.
His fingers trembled as he enlarged the image.
Then he whispered a name I hadn't heard since the funeral.
"Richard.""
I looked up at him.
"Who's Richard?""
Dad swallowed.
"My brother.""
His younger brother had supposedly moved overseas years ago after a terrible argument about money and the family business.
Dad had told me that Richard was never coming back.
Yet there he was, walking through our house like he owned it.
And the worst part was that Melissa seemed to know him.
Because the last thing the recording captured before the screen went black was Richard looking toward the upstairs camera and mouthing three words.
She doesn't know.
Dad stared at the screen.
Then he turned to me.
"Sophia," he said slowly, "I need you to tell me something. Has your uncle ever spoken to you?""
Before I could answer, the front door slammed.
Melissa was gone.
And my father's phone began ringing.
May you like
The caller's name made him stop breathing.
*Richard.*
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