Chapter 3: “Daddy, Please Don’t Leave Again”
The shadow beneath the office door disappeared.
I didn't move.
Neither did Victoria.
For several seconds, the entire house seemed to hold its breath.
Then I heard footsteps retreating down the hallway.
One set.
Then another.
I waited.
Ten seconds.
Twenty.
Nothing.
I finally unlocked the door and pulled it open.
The hallway was empty.
Victoria was gone.
But the man's shadow had been real.
I knew it.
I had seen it.
I stepped into the hallway and looked toward the stairs.
Nothing.
The front doors were still locked.
The security alarm was still armed.
Whoever had been outside my office had not left through the front entrance.
That left one possibility.
There was another way out.
I looked toward the locked room.
The narrow door at the end of the hallway.
My pulse quickened.
I walked toward it.
The key was still in Victoria's possession.
But I noticed something I had never paid attention to before.
The molding around the door didn't quite match the wall.
I ran my fingers along it.
A gap.
I pressed.
Nothing.
Then I pushed harder.
A section of the wall moved inward.
Not much.
Just enough.
I stepped back.
A hidden panel.
My mind raced.
Why would a luxury home have a concealed passage beside a locked room?
I reached toward it.
Then I heard Lily scream.
“Daddy!”
I ran upstairs.
Her bedroom door was open.
Lily was standing on her bed.
Bunny was on the floor.
Her face was white.
“What happened?”
She pointed toward the window.
“Someone was there.”
I rushed to it.
The curtains were moving.
The window was locked.
Outside, the Malibu night stretched toward the dark Pacific.
No one was visible.
I turned back.
“Did someone come inside?”
She shook her head.
“He was looking at me.”
“Who?”
“I don't know.”
“Man or woman?”
“A man.”
My stomach tightened.
“What did he look like?”
She closed her eyes.
“Tall.”
“Anything else?”
“Black hat.”
The man from the recording.
I picked up Lily.
She wrapped both arms around my neck.
“Daddy, please don't leave again.”
The words stopped me.
“I won't.”
“You said that before.”
I froze.
“When?”
“Before Mommy Victoria.”
I carried her to the bed.
“What do you mean?”
She stared at me.
“When you went away.”
“I traveled for work.”
“You said you'd come back.”
“I did.”
“You came back after three sleeps.”
I swallowed.
“That wasn't very long.”
“It was to me.”
I sat beside her.
Lily lowered her eyes.
“Mommy Victoria said you liked work more than me.”
My chest hurt.
“She said that?”
“Yes.”
“What else?”
“She said Daddy needed quiet.”
I felt anger rising.
“What did she do when you cried?”
“She put me in the closet.”
My entire body went still.
“What?”
“The little closet.”
She pointed toward the wardrobe.
“For how long?”
“I don't know.”
“Were you alone?”
She nodded.
“Did she lock it?”
Another nod.
“How many times?”
Lily looked toward the floor.
“A lot.”
I opened the wardrobe.
Nothing unusual.
Clothes.
Shoes.
Boxes.
But I noticed scratches along the inside of the door.
Small.
At child height.
I crouched.
There were dozens.
My fingers trembled.
“Lily.”
She watched me.
“Did you make these?”
She nodded.
“Why?”
“I wanted to get out.”
I closed my eyes.
For a moment, I couldn't speak.
My daughter had scratched at a closet door because she had been trapped inside it.
And I had been downstairs.
Or across the country.
Working.
Trusting the woman I had brought into our home.
I turned back toward Lily.
“Did Mommy Victoria ever put anything in your food?”
Her eyes widened.
“No.”
“Did she ever make you take medicine?”
A pause.
Then:
“Sometimes.”
“What medicine?”
“I don't know.”
“Why?”
“She said it would make me sleep.”
My blood ran cold.
“Did you feel sleepy afterward?”
“Yes.”
“How many times?”
She counted on her fingers.
“Maybe six.”
I stood immediately.
I needed medical records.
Toxicology.
Everything.
But Lily suddenly grabbed my sleeve.
“Daddy.”
“Yes?”
“There's something else.”
“What?”
She looked toward the door.
Then whispered:
“Mommy Victoria talks to Mommy.”
I frowned.
“What?”
“She talks to Mommy Emma.”
My heart skipped.
“How?”
“In the locked room.”
“What does she say?”
“I don't know.”
“Did you hear her?”
“Sometimes.”
“What did she say?”
Lily lowered her voice.
“She says she's sorry.”
I stared at her.
“Sorry for what?”
“I don't know.”
She looked frightened.
“Daddy?”
“Yes?”
“Mommy Emma isn't sleeping, is she?”
The question nearly broke me.
“No.”
“She isn't coming back?”
“No, sweetheart.”
Lily nodded.
Then she whispered:
“Mommy Victoria says she should have stayed dead.”
I felt the world tilt.
I sat down hard on the edge of the bed.
Emma.
Dead.
Three years.
And Victoria had been telling my daughter things about her.
Things a child should never hear.
But there was one sentence I couldn't ignore.
She should have stayed dead.
It wasn't something a grieving widow would say.
It was something a person said when they knew more than they should.
At 10:12 p.m., I called my attorney.
His name was Robert Hale.
He had represented me for fifteen years.
He answered on the fourth ring.
“Daniel?”
“I need you at the house.”
“Tonight?”
“Yes.”
“What happened?”
“I think my daughter has been abused.”
Silence.
Then his voice changed.
“Is Lily safe?”
“She is with me.”
“Call the police.”
“I will.”
“Daniel—”
“But there's more.”
“What?”
“I think my wife may be involved in something connected to my first wife's death.”
Robert said nothing for several seconds.
Then:
“Don't confront Victoria.”
“She's in the house.”
“Then keep Lily with you.”
“I found security footage.”
“Preserve it.”
“I have.”
“Don't alter anything.”
“I won't.”
“I'm coming.”
“Bring someone.”
“Who?”
“Someone who knows digital forensics.”
Robert hesitated.
“Daniel, what exactly did you find?”
“A man.”
“What man?”
“Someone meeting Victoria in the house.”
“Did you recognize him?”
“No.”
“Do you know if he's still there?”
“I don't.”
Robert's voice became urgent.
“Lock yourself and Lily in a room.”
“I need to find Victoria.”
“No.”
“I need answers.”
“You need your daughter alive.”
That stopped me.
I looked at Lily.
She was sitting quietly with Bunny.
I walked over and sat beside her.
“Robert,” I said.
“Yes?”
“I'll call the police.”
“Good.”
“But first I'm going to make sure the house is secure.”
“Daniel.”
“I'll call you back.”
I ended the call.
I searched every room.
Garage.
Basement.
Guest bedrooms.
Laundry room.
Pantry.
Pool house.
Nothing.
No man.
No Victoria.
Then I found the back door open.
Cold ocean air moved through the kitchen.
The alarm panel said:
DISARMED — USER 03
Victoria.
She had disarmed it.
I checked the exterior cameras.
At 9:48 p.m., Victoria had walked outside.
At 9:50, she disappeared behind the garage.
At 9:52, the camera went black.
Someone had disabled the feed.
I rewound.
A black SUV appeared at the edge of the property.
No license plate visible.
Victoria entered it.
The vehicle drove away.
I stared at the screen.
She had left.
Without telling me.
Without taking luggage.
Without taking her purse.
Almost as though she hadn't planned to leave.
Almost as though someone had told her to.
I checked the garage.
Her car was still there.
That meant the SUV belonged to someone else.
The man.
I called the police.
Then I went upstairs.
Lily was still awake.
“Daddy?”
“Yes?”
“Are you going to sleep here?”
“Yes.”
“Promise?”
“I promise.”
She moved toward the center of the bed.
I lay down beside her.
She curled against my chest.
“Daddy?”
“Hmm?”
“Did I do something bad?”
I closed my eyes.
“No.”
“Then why does Mommy Victoria hate me?”
My throat tightened.
“She doesn't get to decide your worth.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means you are loved.”
“By you?”
“Always.”
“By Mommy Emma?”
I looked at the ceiling.
“Always.”
Lily was quiet.
Then she whispered:
“I remember something.”
“What?”
“Mommy Victoria told me Mommy Emma wasn't my real mommy.”
My heart stopped.
“What?”
“She said Mommy Emma found me.”
I sat up.
“Found you where?”
“I don't know.”
“What else?”
“She said Daddy would be angry if I knew.”
I stared at my daughter.
Something didn't make sense.
Lily was Emma's biological child.
I knew that.
I had been there when she was born.
Or at least, I believed I had been.
I remembered the hospital.
The doctors.
The photograph.
The tiny pink bracelet around Lily's wrist.
But suddenly, an old memory surfaced.
A nurse asking me:
“Would you like to see the baby?”
I had been outside the delivery room.
I remembered being told Emma had complications.
I remembered waiting.
Then I remembered being handed Lily.
My daughter.
My world.
But I had never seen Emma holding her.
Not once.
The thought made my stomach turn.
I reached for my phone.
I needed Emma's medical records.
Birth records.
Everything.
I called Robert again.
He answered immediately.
“Are you safe?”
“Yes.”
“I've contacted a detective.”
“Good.”
“I want to ask you something.”
“What?”
“Do you still have Lily's original birth certificate?”
“Yes.”
“Get it.”
“Why?”
“I need to verify something.”
There was silence.
Then Robert asked:
“What?”
I looked at Lily.
“I need to know who signed it.”
Robert's voice became very quiet.
“Daniel…”
“What?”
“There may be something you don't know.”
My heart began pounding.
“What?”
“I found Emma's old estate file.”
“You found it?”
“It was sealed.”
“Why?”
“Because Emma requested it.”
“Requested what?”
“She left a private letter.”
“To me?”
“No.”
“To Lily.”
I couldn't breathe.
“What does it say?”
“I don't know.”
“Then open it.”
“I can't.”
“Why?”
“Because the envelope was marked: Only to be opened when Lily turns eighteen.”
I stared at the wall.
“Then why are you telling me?”
“Because someone broke the seal.”
My blood ran cold.
“Who?”
“We don't know.”
I looked toward the bedroom door.
“Robert.”
“Yes?”
“Send me a copy.”
“I will.”
“Tonight.”
“Daniel…”
“What?”
“The signature on the envelope isn't Emma's.”
I felt every hair on my arms rise.
“Whose is it?”
“I don't know yet.”
Then I heard something.
A soft sound from the hallway.
A floorboard creaking.
I turned.
The door was open.
No one there.
I stood.
“Robert, I'll call you back.”
I ended the call.
I stepped into the hallway.
“Victoria?”
No answer.
I walked toward the stairs.
Then I saw something on the floor.
A small silver key.
I picked it up.
It wasn't Victoria's key.
It wasn't mine.
It was a child's key.
Attached to it was a faded white tag.
Three words were written in black ink:
FOR LILY ONLY.
I stared at it.
Then I heard a voice behind me.
“Daddy?”
I turned.
Lily stood in the doorway.
Her face was pale.
She looked at the key in my hand.
Then she whispered:
“That opens Mommy's room.”
I looked toward the locked door downstairs.
“Emma's room?”
Lily shook her head.
“No.”
She pointed toward the hidden passage.
“The room Mommy Victoria told me never to tell you about.”
I looked at the key.
Then at my daughter.
“Where is it?”
Lily's eyes filled with tears.
“Under the stairs.”
We moved quietly.
I carried Lily.
She pointed toward the wall beneath the staircase.
There was a small wooden panel.
I pressed it.
It opened.
Behind it was a narrow staircase descending into darkness.
I turned on my phone flashlight.
“Have you ever been here?”
Lily shook her head.
“Mommy Victoria said monsters lived there.”
I almost smiled.
Almost.
“There's no such thing as monsters.”
Lily whispered:
“There is.”
I looked down.
“What kind?”
She stared into the darkness.
“The kind that look like people.”
I held her tighter.
We descended.
One step.
Two.
Three.
The air became colder.
At the bottom was a steel door.
The silver key fit perfectly.
I turned it.
Click.
The door opened.
Inside was a small room.
There were boxes.
Old photographs.
Documents.
A filing cabinet.
And a wooden desk.
On the desk sat one object.
A framed photograph.
Emma.
Holding newborn Lily.
My breath caught.
It was the first photograph I had ever seen of Emma holding our daughter.
But something was wrong.
I stepped closer.
On the back of the frame was a date.
And beneath it, written in Emma's handwriting:
This is not the child Daniel was told about.
I stopped breathing.
Lily was still in my arms.
My daughter.
My entire world.
I turned the photograph over.
There was another note.
Six words.
Victoria knows where the real child is.
My phone vibrated.
A new message appeared.
Now you understand why they were afraid of you finding out.
I stared at the screen.
Then another message arrived.
May you like
But Lily is not the secret.
You are.
