Chapter 1 - Daddy's in ThereAt first, everyone laughed.
That was the easiest response when a three-year-old said something completely absurd in front of an entire backyard full of adults.
“Mommy, Daddy’s in there!”
Ariel had pointed directly at Clara’s stomach, her tiny finger trembling with absolute certainty.
Someone near the grill snorted.
My aunt covered her mouth.
Even Glen laughed.
I did too.
For two seconds.
Then Ariel started crying.
Not whining.
Not throwing a tantrum.
Crying.
Real tears slid down her cheeks as she tugged at my wrist.
“But Daddy’s on her!” she sobbed. “He’s stuck!”
I crouched in front of her.
“Sweetheart, Daddy is right there.”
I pointed toward Glen.
He raised both hands.
“See? Completely present.”
A few people chuckled again, but the laughter had weakened.
Ariel looked at him.
Then at Clara.
Then back at me.
Her lower lip trembled.
“No,” she whispered. “That Daddy isn’t the Daddy.”
The backyard seemed to lose a degree of warmth.
“What does that mean?” I asked.
Ariel didn't answer.
Instead, she grabbed my hand and pulled.
She was surprisingly strong when she was scared.
I followed her across the patio, past the cooler, past the colorful birthday balloons, straight toward Clara’s lounge chair.
Clara was stretched beneath the umbrella, wearing a black one-piece swimsuit and oversized sunglasses.
She looked annoyed.
“What now?” she asked.
Ariel pointed again.
“There!”
Clara sighed.
“I already told you, sweetheart. There’s nothing there.”
Ariel shook her head violently.
“Yes!”
Then she reached for Clara.
I instinctively stopped her.
“Ariel, don’t touch her.”
But my daughter had already seen something.
I could tell.
Her eyes weren't focused on Clara’s face.
They were locked on the lower right side of Clara’s abdomen.
The exact same place she'd been pointing at before.
“What are you seeing?” I whispered.
Ariel leaned close to my ear.
Her voice became so quiet I barely heard it.
“Daddy’s hurt.”
Every hair on my arms rose.
“What?”
“He told me.”
My stomach tightened.
“Who told you?”
Ariel looked over my shoulder.
Straight at Clara.
“Him.”
Clara sat up so quickly her sunglasses slid down her nose.
“That's enough.”
Her tone was sharper now.
Not irritated.
Alarmed.
I noticed it immediately.
“Clara?”
She stood.
“Your daughter has an active imagination. That's all.”
Ariel started crying again.
“No! Daddy said help me!”
Glen walked toward us.
“What's happening?”
Before I could answer, Clara stepped between Glen and Ariel.
“Nothing.”
That single word came too quickly.
Too firmly.
I stared at her.
Then something strange happened.
Clara’s hand moved across her stomach.
Not casually.
Protectively.
Her palm pressed against the exact place Ariel had pointed to.
Ariel gasped.
“There!”
Everyone turned.
“What?” Glen asked.
Ariel's face went pale.
“Mommy.”
She grabbed my shirt.
“Make her open it.”
“Open what?” I asked.
“The door.”
The silence that followed felt enormous.
Clara stopped breathing.
My father, who had been talking with one of the guests near the pool, suddenly looked over.
“What's going on?”
Nobody answered.
I stared at Clara.
“Open what door, Ariel?”
Ariel pointed at the swimsuit.
“The secret door.”
Clara’s face changed.
Just slightly.
But I saw it.
Fear.
Not the kind of embarrassment a woman might feel because a child was making strange comments about her body.
It was recognition.
Like my daughter had accidentally said something she wasn't supposed to know.
Clara turned toward the house.
“I think I’m going home.”
My father frowned.
“Why?”
“I don't feel well.”
She reached for her towel.
Ariel screamed.
“DON’T LET HER GO!”
Everybody jumped.
Glen knelt beside our daughter.
“Ariel, calm down.”
But she kept pointing at Clara.
“Daddy is behind it!”
My heart began pounding.
I looked at Clara’s stomach again.
Nothing appeared unusual.
No visible injury.
No bulge.
Nothing.
Then I noticed something that had been hidden by the edge of the lounge chair.
A small black strip.
It looked like a zipper.
I blinked.
Clara pulled the towel over her body.
Too late.
I had seen it.
And so had my father.
His expression hardened.
“Clara,” he said quietly.
She froze.
He walked toward her.
“What is that?”
Clara didn't answer.
My father reached for the towel.
She slapped his hand away.
“Don't.”
Nobody spoke.
Glen moved closer to me.
“What the hell is happening?”
I couldn't answer.
Because at that exact moment, Ariel slipped her little hand into mine again and whispered the words that would change everything.
“Mommy…”
She stared at Clara’s stomach.
“Daddy said he can’t breathe.”
The entire party went silent.
Then, from beneath Clara’s swimsuit, something vibrated.
A tiny electronic sound.
Once.
Twice.
Then three times.
May you like
Clara went white.
And she ran.
