Chapter 3 - The police took Rebecca into the kitchen.I stayed in the living room with Lily.
My husband, Daniel, had arrived twenty minutes earlier. He had been out of town for work when everything happened.
When he saw my face, he didn't ask questions.
He took Lily.
I collapsed into a chair.
“She almost killed her.”
Daniel's jaw tightened.
“Who?”
“My mother.”
He looked toward the kitchen.
Then back at me.
“Tell me everything.”
Before I could, a detective approached.
“Mr. Bennett?”
Daniel nodded.
“Can you take the baby upstairs for a moment?”
“Why?”
“We found something in the nursery.”
Daniel's eyes sharpened.
“What?”
The detective lowered his voice.
“A listening device.”
Daniel looked at me.
“Someone has been monitoring your home.”
I felt cold.
My mother had been listening to us.
Watching us.
Tracking our routine.
The baby.
Everything.
The detective continued.
“We need to know whether anyone else had access.”
I looked toward the kitchen.
“Rebecca.”
Daniel said nothing.
The detective nodded.
“That is what we're trying to establish.”
Twenty minutes later, Rebecca came out.
She looked exhausted.
No makeup.
No carefully arranged party smile.
Just a woman who suddenly looked much older than her thirty-four years.
She sat across from me.
“I didn't know she was going to throw Lily.”
“You helped her.”
“I know.”
“Why?”
Rebecca stared at the floor.
“Because Mom said you were stealing my life.”
I stared at her.
“She convinced you that my baby was theft.”
“You don't understand what it was like.”
“Then explain it.”
Rebecca's hands trembled.
“I had three miscarriages.”
I already knew that.
What I didn't know was what came next.
“The last one was different.”
She swallowed.
“I was eight weeks.”
My voice softened despite myself.
“Rebecca…”
“Mom blamed you.”
“What?”
“She said your pregnancy somehow cursed mine.”
I stared at her.
“That makes no sense.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
Rebecca's eyes filled with tears.
“I knew it was crazy.”
“But you believed her.”
“Sometimes.”
That word hurt more than anything.
Sometimes.
My sister believed our mother enough to help destroy me.
“What did you do?”
Rebecca looked at the detective.
Then at me.
“I gave Mom your schedule.”
My stomach dropped.
“My appointments?”
“Yes.”
“My hospital?”
“Yes.”
“My due date?”
“Yes.”
“Anything else?”
She nodded.
“I gave her your spare key.”
Daniel stepped forward.
“You did what?”
Rebecca flinched.
“I thought she wanted to talk to her.”
My father entered the room.
“You knew better.”
Rebecca looked at him.
“Dad…”
“You knew better.”
For the first time, she yelled.
“And what did you do?”
Silence.
“Thirty years, Dad!”
She stood.
“You watched her destroy everyone!”
Dad didn't respond.
Rebecca laughed through tears.
“You think you're innocent because you didn't throw the baby?”
He looked away.
That hit me harder than I expected.
Because Rebecca was right about one thing.
My father had stayed silent.
For decades.
I turned toward him.
“Why?”
He finally sat down.
“Because your mother threatened to leave.”
“So you let her hurt us?”
“I was afraid.”
“Of what?”
“That if I challenged her, I'd lose all of you.”
“You already did.”
Dad closed his eyes.
Rebecca whispered, “We all lost.”
The detective entered again.
“We recovered the device.”
He placed a photo on the table.
It showed a tiny tracker.
Not a camera.
A location beacon.
Daniel stared at it.
“She was tracking the baby?”
The detective nodded.
“She could have monitored where you took Lily.”
My mind flashed through every trip.
The pediatrician.
The grocery store.
The park.
The pharmacy.
“She knew where we were.”
“Yes.”
I looked at Rebecca.
“Why was it labeled NOT FOR LILY?”
Rebecca wiped her tears.
“Because Mom wasn't tracking Lily.”
“Then who?”
“You.”
I stared at her.
“What?”
“She wanted to know where you were.”
“Why?”
Rebecca looked toward my mother.
“She thought you were going to leave.”
“Leave Virginia?”
“She believed you'd take Lily and disappear.”
I shook my head.
“I never said that.”
Rebecca whispered.
“She found something in your house.”
“What?”
“She thought you were planning to expose her.”
“To whom?”
“No.”
Rebecca looked terrified.
“Not police.”
“Then who?”
She looked at my father.
“His brother.”
Dad froze.
I had never heard him mention an uncle.
Not once.
“Who is your father's brother?”
Dad slowly stood.
“Elliot.”
The name hung in the room.
“Where is he?”
“Dead.”
Rebecca shook her head.
“No.”
Dad looked at her.
She whispered:
“He's not dead.”
Dad's face drained.
“What did you say?”
“I saw him.”
“When?”
“Two weeks ago.”
My father took a step forward.
“Where?”
Rebecca looked at me.
“At your mother's old house.”
My skin prickled.
The detective noticed the reaction.
“What old house?”
Dad answered.
“The house where Helen grew up.”
“Does she still own it?”
“Yes.”
The detective asked, “What's inside?”
Dad looked toward the window.
A slow realization passed over his face.
“Everything.”
He turned to the detective.
“Everything she doesn't want found.”
Then his phone rang.
Unknown number.
Dad answered.
Nobody spoke.
Then a man's voice came through.
“James?”
Dad went completely still.
The voice continued.
“You should have called me thirty years ago.”
Dad's hand began to shake.
“Elliot?”
A pause.
Then:
“She's already burned one life.”
His voice lowered.
“Don't let her burn another.”
The call ended.
And from the hallway came the sound of Helen screaming.
“GET ME OUT OF HERE!”
The detective rushed toward her.
She was staring through the front window.
At the driveway.
A black SUV had stopped outside.
Nobody got out.
But Helen recognized it.
May you like
She whispered one name.
“Elliot.”
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