Chapter 3 - The Cold RoomThe next morning, Child Protective Services issued an emergency protection order.
Melissa was removed from the house.
Emma stayed in the hospital.
I thought the worst part was over.
I was wrong.
The worst part was learning how much I hadn't known.
Detective Harris arrived before breakfast.
He was in his forties, quiet, tired-looking, and carried a folder thick enough to make my stomach hurt.
He put it on the chair beside me.
“We searched the house.”
“What did you find?”
He opened the folder.
“Several things.”
The first photograph showed Emma's bedroom.
Normal.
Pink walls.
Stuffed animals.
A small bookshelf.
Then another photograph.
The basement.
A metal chair stood in the corner.
A child's blanket lay folded beside it.
No windows.
No heat.
I looked at Harris.
“What is this?”
“She called it the cold room.”
My fingers tightened.
“How long?”
“We don't know yet.”
He placed another photograph on the table.
A wall.
There were pencil marks on it.
Hundreds.
Some dates.
Some numbers.
And one phrase repeated over and over.
I'M SORRY.
I stared at it.
“How many times?”
“We haven't counted.”
I looked away.
Harris spoke carefully.
“There was also a camera.”
“Where?”
“In the basement.”
My stomach dropped.
“Was it working?”
“Yes.”
A minute later, he showed me a video still.
Emma was sitting in the chair.
Her arms were wrapped around herself.
Melissa stood behind the camera.
I couldn't watch.
“Don't show me.”
Harris closed the folder.
“I understand.”
I stood and walked to the hospital window.
Snow had started falling again.
The city looked clean.
White.
Almost innocent.
Behind me, Harris said:
“There is something else.”
I turned.
“We found a notebook.”
“What kind?”
“Your wife's handwriting.”
He opened it.
Every page contained dates.
And descriptions.
“Monday. Spilled juice.”
“Tuesday. Asked too many questions.”
“Wednesday. Cried during homework.”
“Thursday. Lied about being scared.”
I swallowed.
“She was keeping records?”
“Yes.”
“For what?”
Harris looked at me.
“That is what we're trying to find out.”
He turned several pages.
Then stopped.
A line was underlined.
“Phase Two begins after Daniel signs.”
My heart slammed against my ribs.
“What does that mean?”
“We don't know.”
“What else?”
Harris turned to another page.
There were several dates.
One of them was tomorrow.
Another was three days later.
Another was next week.
At the bottom of the page, Melissa had written:
HE WILL BREAK FIRST.
I felt dizzy.
“She was planning something.”
“That's our concern.”
I sat back down.
“What phase two?”
Harris didn't answer.
He looked uncomfortable.
Then his phone buzzed.
He checked the message.
His face changed.
“What?”
“The lab processed the phone.”
He looked up.
“There are deleted files.”
“How many?”
“Forty-three.”
“Can you recover them?”
“We already did.”
He placed his phone on the table.
The first recovered file was a photograph of Emma.
She was asleep.
The second showed her standing in a corner.
The third showed her crying.
The fourth was different.
It showed me.
I was asleep on our bed.
The photograph had been taken from the doorway.
My pulse quickened.
“Melissa took that?”
“Likely.”
“Why?”
Harris swiped.
Another image appeared.
A screenshot of a document.
My divorce petition.
Highlighted in red.
I stared.
The petition accused me of emotional abandonment.
Financial negligence.
Hostile behavior.
And one sentence circled three times:
FATHER UNFIT DUE TO VOLATILE TEMPER.
I laughed once.
Not because it was funny.
Because the alternative was screaming.
“I never did any of that.”
“I know.”
“You knew about the petition?”
“No.”
I stared at the screen.
The document had been prepared months earlier.
Before I had decided to file.
Before I had told Melissa anything.
“She was preparing to accuse me?”
“Yes.”
Harris swiped again.
This time, there was a video.
Melissa was talking to someone.
A man.
I didn't recognize him.
They were sitting in a parked car.
The audio was faint.
Melissa said:
“Once he leaves, she'll be mine.”
The man asked:
“And if he fights?”
Melissa smiled.
“He won't.”
I looked at Harris.
“Who is that?”
“We don't know.”
The video ended.
Another began.
Same car.
Same man.
Different night.
This time, Melissa said:
“The girl is the leverage.”
I felt something cold move through my chest.
“What did she mean?”
“We're trying to find out.”
Behind us, a nurse entered.
“Mr. Carter?”
I turned.
“Yes?”
“Emma's awake.”
I stood immediately.
When I entered the room, Emma looked at me.
Her face was pale.
But she smiled.
I sat beside her.
“Hey, kiddo.”
“Daddy?”
“I'm here.”
She reached for my hand.
“Did you find the cold room?”
My stomach dropped.
“Yes.”
She looked relieved.
Then she whispered:
“Did you find what's under it?”
I stared at her.
“What's under what?”
Emma looked toward the door.
May you like
Then back at me.
“The floor.”
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