Chapter 2 - The Name He BuriedVictoria did not open the door.
“Go downstairs, Charles.”
Silence.
Then his voice came again.
“We need to talk privately.”
“No.”
“Victoria, this concerns the child.”
“Exactly.”
Another pause.
“Then you should hear me before you make a mistake.”
Victoria looked at Rosie.
The little girl had curled herself into the corner of the sofa.
She looked terrified.
Not of the room.
Not of Victoria.
Of Charles.
Victoria saw it.
And suddenly that mattered more than everything else.
She crossed the room.
“Tell me something, Rosie.”
The girl looked up.
“Has Charles ever seen you before tonight?”
Rosie hesitated.
Then nodded.
“Yes.”
Victoria’s blood went cold.
“When?”
“At the house.”
“What house?”
“Mama’s house.”
“Did he come often?”
Rosie shook her head.
“Not often. Sometimes.”
“What did he do?”
The girl hugged herself.
“He told Mama that I belonged somewhere else.”
Victoria stared.
“Did he ever touch you?”
“No.”
“What did he call you?”
Rosie’s eyes dropped.
“Rosalind.”
Victoria felt as though someone had punched her.
“Did he call you that?”
“Sometimes.”
The knocking stopped.
Victoria did not hear Charles leave.
That frightened her more.
She opened a drawer and pulled out her phone.
“Stay here.”
Rosie grabbed her wrist.
“Don’t let him take me.”
Victoria looked at the child.
“I won’t.”
She meant it.
She walked to the door.
When she opened it, Charles was standing alone in the hallway.
He looked composed now.
Almost.
“What do you want?”
“To protect you.”
Victoria laughed once.
It sounded empty.
“You have had eight years to protect me.”
Charles stepped inside.
His eyes went directly to Rosie.
The girl shrank behind Victoria.
“You know who she is,” Victoria said.
Charles said nothing.
“Tell me.”
“She is a troubled child.”
“That is not what I asked.”
“She is not your daughter.”
Victoria stared at him.
“Then why are you afraid of her?”
“I am not.”
“You dropped your glass.”
“It slipped.”
“You told Bruno to remove her.”
“She was trespassing.”
“You called her Rosalind.”
His expression changed.
Only for a second.
But Victoria saw it.
“Why?”
Charles looked away.
“There are things you do not understand.”
“Then explain them.”
“You were grieving.”
“I was a mother.”
Victoria stepped closer.
“You told me my baby died.”
Charles’s voice lowered.
“I told you what the doctors told me.”
“No.”
She shook her head.
“You told me there was a body.”
“There was.”
“Where?”
“The cemetery.”
“Which body?”
Charles’s silence was answer enough.
Victoria felt the floor shift beneath her.
“You never saw her.”
“I saw the coffin.”
“That is not what I asked.”
Charles looked toward Rosie.
“She has been manipulated.”
“By Eleanor?”
His face hardened.
“Do not say that name.”
Victoria smiled bitterly.
“There it is.”
Charles realized his mistake.
“Where is she?”
“She is dead.”
“When?”
“Years ago.”
“Where?”
He did not answer.
Victoria walked to her desk.
She opened an old cabinet and pulled out a photograph.
Her wedding day.
Her father stood beside her.
Charles stood on the other side.
And behind them was Eleanor Hart.
Victoria turned the photograph around.
“Why did Eleanor disappear the same night as Rosalind?”
Charles said nothing.
“Why did nobody ever investigate?”
“We investigated.”
“You.”
“Yes.”
“You investigated your own wife’s missing child?”
Charles stared at her.
“You were not in a condition to do it.”
Victoria’s hand tightened around the photograph.
“Did you know about Rosie before tonight?”
Charles hesitated.
“Yes.”
Rosie made a tiny sound behind Victoria.
Victoria turned.
The girl was crying.
“Rosie?”
“Mama said I should never tell him where I lived.”
Charles closed his eyes.
“Victoria…”
“No.”
Victoria stepped toward him.
“What did you do?”
“I didn't kill your daughter.”
The room became silent.
Victoria stared.
He had not said, “She isn't your daughter.”
He had said, “I didn't kill your daughter.”
Eight years of grief suddenly cracked open.
“You said she died.”
“I said I didn't kill her.”
“Then who did?”
Charles whispered:
“Your father.”
Victoria froze.
Her father had been dead for seven years.
The man Charles had just named could not defend himself.
“Why would my father kill my daughter?”
“He didn’t.”
Charles looked toward Rosie.
“He ordered someone else to make her disappear.”
Victoria’s blood ran cold.
“Why?”
Charles stepped closer.
“Because your daughter was never supposed to inherit the Hale fortune.”
Victoria stared at him.
“What?”
Charles swallowed.
“She was supposed to die before her first birthday.”
Rosie began crying.
Victoria turned toward her.
Then back toward Charles.
“You knew.”
“Yes.”
“For eight years?”
“Yes.”
“And you let me mourn an empty coffin?”
Charles said nothing.
Victoria’s voice became a whisper.
“What happened to the real body?”
Charles looked at her.
“I don't know.”
The lights suddenly went out.
The house fell into darkness.
Rosie screamed.
A loud crash came from the hallway.
Charles spun toward the door.
Then they heard footsteps running downstairs.
Victoria grabbed Rosie.
“Stay behind me.”
Charles pulled his phone from his pocket.
“No signal.”
The emergency lights flickered on.
The door to Victoria’s room stood open.
On the floor outside was a single object.
A child’s white hospital bracelet.
Victoria stepped closer.
There were faded letters on it.
ROSA—
The rest had been scratched away.
Charles stared at it.
Then his face lost all color.
Because beneath the scratched name was a second line.
MOTHER:
VICTORIA HALE.
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And someone had written fresh blood across the plastic:
SHE WAS NEVER DEAD.
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