Chapter 3
I stood in the doorway with Lily in my arms and watched the police car pull away.
Vanessa’s last sentence echoed in my head.
Ask your precious mother why Lily’s real mother died.
Lily’s mother, Claire, had died four years earlier.
A car accident.
That was what I had been told.
That was what the police report said.
That was what I had believed every day since.
I looked at my mother.
“What was she talking about?”
My mother stared at the floor.
“Not here.”
My anger rose instantly.
“Not here?”
Lily shifted against my chest.
That stopped me.
My daughter had already been through enough.
I carried her upstairs.
My mother followed.
I gave Lily a warm bath.
Orange juice washed from her blonde hair.
She sat silently while I cleaned her stuffed bunny in the sink.
Normally she would have complained that I was getting his ears too wet.
Today she said nothing.
That scared me more.
I wrapped her in a towel.
“Daddy?”
“Yeah?”
“Are you mad at me?”
My heart broke.
“No.”
“Because Vanessa said you get mad when I make people fight.”
I closed my eyes.
Then I knelt in front of her.
“Look at me.”
She did.
“None of what happened today was your fault.”
Her eyes filled.
“Even the juice?”
“Especially the juice.”
“What about you hitting her?”
That question landed hard.
I took a breath.
“That was something I should not have done.”
“But she was mean.”
“Yes.”
“So why was it wrong?”
Because I wanted her to understand something Vanessa never had.
“Being angry doesn’t mean we get to hurt people.”
Lily thought about that.
“Even bad people?”
“Even then.”
She nodded slowly.
I tucked her into my bed.
Not her room.
Mine.
She grabbed my wrist when I tried to stand.
“Stay until I sleep.”
“I’m not going anywhere.”
Ten minutes later, her breathing slowed.
My mother waited downstairs.
The guests had left.
The ruined birthday table remained untouched.
I walked into the kitchen.
“Talk.”
My mother sat at the table.
“Grant, Vanessa was trying to hurt you.”
“She mentioned Claire.”
“I know.”
“So explain.”
My mother rubbed both hands over her face.
“Claire called me the night she died.”
I froze.
“She called you?”
“Yes.”
“You never told me.”
“She made me promise.”
My voice sharpened.
“She died. You don’t keep promises from dead people when they affect their family.”
My mother flinched.
“I know.”
“What did she say?”
“She was scared.”
“Of what?”
My mother swallowed.
“Of you.”
I stared at her.
“What?”
“She said you had been fighting.”
“We were married. We fought sometimes.”
“She said you had become obsessed with work. That you were barely home. She said you had been yelling.”
“I never touched Claire.”
“I know.”
“Then what are you saying?”
“She wasn’t accusing you of hurting her.”
My mother looked at me carefully.
“She was planning to leave.”
The words hit like a punch.
“No.”
“She had packed a bag.”
“No.”
“She wanted to take Lily and stay with me for a few days.”
I stepped backward.
My memories of that night came rushing back.
Claire had texted me at 7:18 p.m.
We need to talk when you get home.
At 8:03, a state trooper called.
She had lost control on a wet highway.
I never saw her alive again.
“She was leaving me?”
“Temporarily.”
“You lied for four years.”
“I thought I was protecting you.”
“From what?”
“From knowing that the last thing she wanted before she died was space.”
I turned away.
My throat closed.
Then something didn’t fit.
“Why would Vanessa know?”
My mother’s expression changed.
“That’s what scares me.”
I turned back.
“You never told her?”
“Never.”
I grabbed my phone.
Vanessa’s number was already useless.
The police had her phone.
But there was someone else.
Vanessa’s sister, Brooke.
I called.
Straight to voicemail.
Again.
Voicemail.
My mother said, “Grant.”
I held up one finger.
On the third call, Brooke answered.
“What?”
“Why did Vanessa know Claire was planning to leave me?”
Silence.
Then Brooke whispered, “She told you?”
“What does Vanessa know?”
“You need to ask her.”
“She’s in police custody.”
Another silence.
Then Brooke said, “Oh, God.”
“What?”
“Grant, I told her not to get involved.”
My pulse started hammering.
“In what?”
Brooke began crying.
“I can’t do this over the phone.”
“Where are you?”
“Home.”
“I’m coming.”
“No!”
“Then talk.”
Brooke lowered her voice.
“Vanessa knew Claire.”
The kitchen seemed to disappear around me.
“What did you just say?”
“They worked together.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
Claire had been a dental hygienist.
Vanessa told me she had never lived in Texas until three years ago.
Another lie.
“When?”
“Before Claire died.”
I sat down.
My mother stared at me.
“How well?”
“I don’t know.”
“You do know.”
Brooke started sobbing.
“They hated each other.”
My stomach turned.
“Why?”
“I don’t know everything.”
“Stop saying that.”
“I’m scared of her!”
The sentence silenced me.
Brooke whispered, “You don’t know Vanessa when she thinks someone is taking something from her.”
I glanced upstairs.
Lily.
“What did Claire take from her?”
Brooke hesitated.
“You.”
I stopped breathing.
“What?”
“Vanessa met you before Claire died.”
“No, she didn’t.”
“She saw you.”
“That isn’t the same thing.”
“She talked about you constantly.”
I remembered the first time Vanessa and I officially met.
At a charity auction.
She spilled wine near my table.
Laughed.
Apologized.
Asked if I was single.
When I told her I was widowed, her expression changed.
I had thought it was sympathy.
Now I wondered.
Brooke continued.
“She knew you were married. She knew you had a daughter. She knew where you worked.”
“How?”
“Claire.”
My mother grabbed the edge of the table.
I forced myself to ask.
“What happened between them?”
Brooke whispered, “Claire caught Vanessa going through her phone at work.”
My blood ran cold.
“When?”
“A few weeks before the accident.”
“And?”
“Vanessa got fired.”
I stood so fast my chair fell backward.
“Why wasn't this in any report?”
“Because it wasn’t connected.”
“To Claire’s death?”
“Yes.”
Brooke’s breathing shook.
“Grant, listen to me. I’m not saying Vanessa caused the crash.”
“You better not be.”
“I’m saying Claire complained that Vanessa kept showing up places after she got fired.”
My mother whispered, “Oh, no.”
I stared at her.
“What?”
She covered her mouth.
“The night Claire called me.”
I waited.
“She said somebody had been following her.”
My entire body went cold.
“You never told police?”
“She didn’t give me a name.”
“You never told police?”
“I was grieving! You were grieving! I didn’t know what mattered!”
I slammed my palm against the table.
My mother jumped.
Upstairs, Lily cried out.
I instantly stopped.
“Daddy?”
I ran.
She was sitting in my bed, trembling.
“I heard a bang.”
I sat beside her.
“I’m sorry.”
“Is Vanessa back?”
“No.”
“Promise?”
“Promise.”
She looked at the doorway.
Then whispered, “She used to watch Mommy’s videos.”
My skin prickled.
“What videos?”
“On her computer.”
“What did she watch?”
Lily pointed toward Vanessa’s office.
“She had Mommy.”
I stared at her.
“You mean pictures?”
She shook her head.
“Mommy talking.”
I stood slowly.
My mother appeared in the doorway.
“What is it?”
I carried Lily with us to Vanessa’s office.
Her laptop was gone.
Police had taken it.
But the desk remained.
Locked drawers.
Boxes.
File folders.
I opened everything I could.
Nothing.
Then Lily pointed toward the bookshelf.
“Behind there.”
I looked at her.
“What’s behind there?”
“The red thing.”
I pulled books away.
A small red flash drive was taped behind the shelf.
My mother whispered, “Grant…”
I took it downstairs to my laptop.
There were dozens of files.
Most had meaningless names.
Then one folder stopped me.
CLAIRE.
Inside were photographs.
Claire leaving work.
Claire picking Lily up from daycare.
Claire entering our old house.
Claire standing beside my car.
Photographs taken without her knowledge.
My mother began crying.
Then I saw a video file dated the night Claire died.
8:01 p.m.
Two minutes before the official crash time.
My hand shook over the mouse.
I clicked.
The footage came from inside a vehicle.
Rain covered the windshield.
A car drove ahead.
Claire’s car.
My mother grabbed my shoulder.
“Oh my God.”
The camera followed her.
The file lasted forty-seven seconds.
Near the end, Claire’s brake lights flashed.
Then the recording stopped.
I immediately called the detective whose card the officer had left.
He answered after two rings.
“I found something.”
“What?”
“A video.”
“What kind of video?”
I stared at Claire’s taillights frozen on my screen.
“The kind that means my wife has been lying to me since the day I met her.”
The detective told me not to touch anything else.
Police returned within twenty minutes.
They collected the flash drive.
They photographed the hidden shelf.
Before leaving, the detective asked Lily one final question.
“Did Vanessa ever talk to you about your mommy?”
Lily nodded.
“What did she say?”
My daughter looked at me.
Then answered so softly I almost missed it.
“She said Mommy tried to keep Daddy from her once.”
My knees weakened.
The detective’s expression hardened.
“And what else?”
Lily hugged her bunny.
“She said Mommy lost.”
That night, I locked every door.
I checked every window.
I pushed a chair beneath my bedroom doorknob even though Vanessa was in custody.
Lily slept beside me.
At 2:17 a.m., my phone vibrated.
Unknown number.
I answered.
No one spoke.
Then a woman whispered one sentence.
“Vanessa isn't the person you should be afraid of.”
The call ended.
Seconds later, a photograph arrived.
May you like
It showed Lily sleeping beside me.
Taken from outside my bedroom window.
