Chapter 4 - MARIA TOLD ME WHY SHE STARTED RECORDINGI had one question for Maria.
“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”
She looked devastated.
“I tried.”
“When?”
“Three months ago.”
I stared.
“How?”
“I asked if we could speak privately.”
I remembered.
She approached me before a flight to Seattle.
I was late.
Rebecca stood nearby.
Maria said:
“Mr. Mercer, when you return, I need to speak with you about Lily.”
I answered:
“Email me.”
Then left.
No email came.
“Why didn’t you send it?”
Maria looked down.
“Mrs. Mercer took my phone.”
“What?”
“She said household matters did not need to bother you while you traveled.”
My stomach turned.
“She threatened my job.”
Maria nodded.
“And my immigration sponsorship paperwork for my sister.”
Rebecca had helped Maria’s sister find an attorney for a legal work process.
She weaponized that too.
“I’m sorry.”
“No, sir.”
“I should have stopped.”
“I should have listened.”
Both could be true.
Maria explained that she first noticed small things.
Lily became quiet whenever Rebecca entered.
She stopped mentioning Hannah during meals.
Pictures disappeared from Lily’s room.
Then food.
Maria once found Lily standing alone in the laundry room.
“For how long?”
“Forty minutes.”
“Why?”
“She sang the song her mother used to sing.”
I closed my eyes.
The Moon Song.
Rebecca punished a child for singing a lullaby.
Maria confronted her.
Rebecca threatened to fire her.
That was when Maria started recording.
At first, only to protect herself.
Then to protect Lily.
“I was waiting until you returned.”
“I came home between trips.”
“Mrs. Mercer was always with you.”
Of course.
Rebecca controlled access.
She booked dinners.
Joined errands.
Stayed near me whenever Maria entered.
I had called it affection.
Now it looked like supervision.
Maria began sending copies of recordings to her cousin’s cloud account in case Rebecca found her phone.
Smart.
Necessary.
Terrifying.
“What was the worst thing you saw?”
Maria hesitated.
“The freezer.”
“Before that.”
She looked toward Lily, who was drawing at the table.
Then lowered her voice.
“Mrs. Mercer would ask about the accident.”
My stomach tightened.
“How?”
“She would show Lily pictures.”
“What pictures?”
“Cars.”
My face went cold.
“She showed her photographs of vehicles and asked which one she remembered.”
Rebecca had been interrogating my child.
Not to help her recover.
To measure what she knew.
“If Lily chose red, Mrs. Mercer became angry.”
I felt sick.
“Did you record that?”
“Yes.”
We gave everything to investigators.
One video showed Rebecca holding up printed photographs.
Black SUV.
Blue sedan.
Red Range Rover.
“What did Mommy see?”
Lily pointed to the red one.
Rebecca said:
“No.”
Lily insisted.
“Red.”
Rebecca grabbed the paper.
“You are remembering wrong.”
“No.”
“You were a baby.”
“I wasn’t.”
Rebecca’s expression turned frighteningly cold.
“Your mother filled your head with lies.”
Then Lily whispered:
“Mommy said you were bad.”
Rebecca slapped the table.
“Your mother is dead.”
Lily started crying.
Maria’s recording shook.
The video ended.
I sat silently.
I could not understand how someone could look at a six-year-old child and see a witness instead of a child.
But Rebecca had.
For three years.
May you like
She married me to stay close to the one person who might expose her.
Then apparently began hating Lily for refusing to forget.
