PART 2: I pretended to fly to Canada after suspecting the housekeeper was doing something terrible to my daughters whenever I was away. 002

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Part 2

In the security room, I stood straight up out of my chair.

My pulse thundered so violently I could hear it in my ears.

On the monitor, Chloe still had her hand wrapped around Sofia’s wrist.

Marisol’s hand remained on Chloe’s forearm.

For one frozen second, nobody moved.

Then Chloe slowly released my daughter.

Her face changed.

Not into remorse.

Into fury.

“Take your hand off me,” she whispered.

Marisol obeyed, but she did not step away from the girls.

“I said do not touch her,” Marisol repeated.

Chloe stared at her.

Then she smiled.

It was the kind of smile that made the temperature in the security room seem to drop ten degrees.

“You’ve gotten very brave lately.”

Marisol said nothing.

Chloe walked slowly around her, studying her as though she were deciding what to do with an insect she had found crawling across her dinner plate.

“Do you know what Alexander thinks of you?”

Marisol’s expression remained guarded.

Chloe continued.

“He thinks you’re stealing from us.”

My stomach twisted.

Beside me, Hector glanced in my direction.

Onscreen, Marisol’s face finally changed.

Not guilt.

Shock.

“Excuse me?”

“The earrings,” Chloe said. “The money. The perfume. Alexander knows.”

For several seconds, Marisol simply stared at her.

Then something happened that I did not expect.

She laughed.

It wasn’t a happy laugh.

It was soft and bitter.

“So that is what you’re doing.”

Chloe’s eyes narrowed.

Marisol looked toward the hallway, making sure the girls were still behind her.

“You’re setting me up.”

Chloe shrugged.

“I don’t need to set you up. People like you eventually expose themselves.”

People like you.

The words made my skin crawl.

Marisol’s jaw tightened.

“You put those things in my room.”

Chloe’s smile disappeared.

“Careful.”

But Marisol wasn’t careful.

Not anymore.

“You’ve been trying to make Mr. Vance fire me for months.”

Chloe stepped closer.

“And yet you’re still here.”

“Because the girls need me.”

That answer seemed to enrage Chloe more than anything else.

“They don’t need you.”

Next »

“One day my little daughter told me, ‘Mom, every time Grandpa gives me a bath, he asks me to play a game. I have to close my eyes, and while they’re closed, he does something…’ I froze. The next day, I opened the bathroom door without warning… and what I saw made my legs start shaking My daughter, Emily, was six years old when she first said the sentence that kept me awake almost the entire night. That afternoon, we were in the kitchen. I was making dinner while she sat at the table drawing. Then, without even looking up, she said, “Mom, did you know Grandpa and I have a game?” I smiled. My father, George, was seventy-six years old, and he and Emily were almost inseparable. He picked her up from school, read her stories, and taught her how to plant flowers in the garden. “What kind of game?” I asked. Emily thought for a moment. “When Grandpa gives me a bath, he tells me to close my eyes.” The knife in my hand stopped. I turned toward her. “Why?” She shrugged. “So we can play.” Okay?” She looked at me, confused. “But Grandpa doesn’t do anything bad.” That sentence should have reassured me. It didn’t. That night, I barely slept. My father had always been the person I trusted most. Whenever my husband had to work late, Dad came over to help me. Whenever Emily was sick, he could sit beside her for hours. I had never seen anything that made me suspicious of him. But now my mind had taken one sentence and built a hundred frightening possibilities around it. The next morning, I started remembering little things that had never seemed important before. A few weeks earlier, Dad had told me, “You’re busy. I’ll get Emily ready for bed.” Another time, the bathroom door had been closed. When I knocked, I heard both of them laughing. Back then, I had smiled. Now the same memory felt completely different. All day, I kept telling myself I was overreacting. But something in me refused to let it go. The next evening, Dad came over again. After dinner, Emily ran up to him. “Grandpa, are we going to play our game today?” I looked at my father. He smiled. “If your mom doesn’t mind.” “Of course,” I said. But I had already made up my mind. Ten minutes later, I heard the water running. Then Emily laughing. I slowly walked toward the bathroom. The door was closed, but not locked. I stepped close enough to hear them. Dad said, far from every terrible thing my mind had imagined that I just stood there for a few seconds.  Emily was sitting safely in the tub, surrounded by bubbles and bath toys. Her eyes were closed. My father was holding a small cup in one hand, using it to rinse her hair, while in the other hand he held one of Emily’s rubber ducks. “Mom,” Emily laughed, “you ruined the game!” I looked at them, confused. “What game?” Dad slowly smiled. “Guess the sound.” It turned out that a few months earlier, Emily had started being afraid of having her hair washed because shampoo had once gotten into her eyes. Every bath had become stressful. My father didn’t want that fear to get worse. So he invented a game. Emily would close her eyes, and Dad would make sounds using different bath toys—the rubber duck, a little cup, a water bottle. While she tried to guess which toy was making the sound, he carefully rinsed the shampoo from her hair.  Every time she guessed correctly, she earned one “star.” After ten stars, Grandpa urm took her out for ice cream. I stood in the doorway, feeling tears fill my eyes. Dad looked at me. He understood immediately. “You were scared, weren’t you?” I couldn’t lie. “Yes.” He was quiet for a moment. Then he said, “You did the right thing by checking.” I looked at him in surprise. He continued, “A mother should always make sure her child is safe. I should have explained our game to you sooner.” Emily opened her eyes. “Mom, I told you Grandpa urm wasn’t doing anything bad.” I walked over and kissed her forehead. That evening, when Dad was getting ready to leave, he stopped by the door and said quietly, “By the way, this game isn’t new.”  “What do you mean?” He smiled. “You were afraid of having your hair washed too. When you were five, I played the same game with you.” I froze. Then suddenly, I remembered. Closed eyes.