Chapter 1: The Missing Last Page
I found my daughter asleep beside a stack of paint cans.
For one second, I stood in the dark storage room behind our garage and convinced myself I was seeing something else.
Maybe she had come out here to look for a toy.
Maybe she had fallen asleep while hiding from the thunder.
But then I saw the thin gray blanket wrapped around her small body. I saw her school backpack tucked beneath her head like a pillow. And I saw the cardboard sign taped to the inside of the door.
*KEEP OUT.*
My suitcase slipped from my hand.
“Maya?””
She stirred at the sound of my voice.
Her eyes opened slowly, unfocused at first. Then she saw me.
“Daddy?””
Her voice was so quiet it broke something inside me.
I dropped to my knees beside her.
“What are you doing out here?””
She sat up too quickly and pulled the blanket tighter around her shoulders.
“I’m okay,” she whispered.
“No, you’re not.””
I reached for her hand. It was cold.
The storage room smelled like dust, old wood, and rain leaking somewhere through the roof. This was not a bedroom. It was barely a room at all.
Maya lowered her eyes.
“Vanessa said I had to sleep here.””
My heart stopped.
“What?””
“She said Brielle needed my room more.””
I stared at my daughter.
Brielle was sixteen. Maya was nine.
“She needed your room for what?””
Maya hesitated.
“For her friends.””
I stood so quickly that my knees hit the concrete floor.
My wife, Vanessa, had told me Brielle was having a small sleepover while I was away for work. She had sent me photos of pizza boxes and balloons. She had never mentioned moving my daughter into a storage room.
Not once.
I picked Maya up carefully, blanket and all.
“You’re coming inside,” I said.
She clung to my neck.
“Is Vanessa going to be mad?””
I held her tighter.
“She will not touch you,” I said.
“Not tonight. Not ever.””
When I carried Maya through the back door, Vanessa was standing in the kitchen with a glass of wine in her hand.
She looked surprised to see me.
Then she saw Maya in my arms.
Her expression changed for half a second.
“Michael,” she said.
“You’re home early.””
I didn't answer.
I walked past her and up the stairs to Maya’s room.
The door was locked.
I stared at it.
“Open it,” I said.
Vanessa followed behind me, her voice suddenly sharp.
“Brielle is sleeping.””
“My daughter is sleeping in a storage room.””
“She wasn’t sleeping,” Vanessa snapped.
“She was being dramatic.””
Maya buried her face against my shoulder.
I looked at Vanessa.
“Open the door.””
She crossed her arms.
“You’re overreacting.””
I set Maya gently on the hallway bench and took the spare key from the drawer beside the stairs. Vanessa stepped forward, but I opened the door before she could stop me.
Inside, Brielle’s friends were laughing under Maya’s pink string lights. Maya’s books had been piled in a box near the closet. Her bed was covered with shopping bags and clothes.
One girl looked up at me.
“Is this Maya’s room?”” she asked.
No one answered.
I walked to the closet and found Maya’s favorite stuffed rabbit shoved behind a pile of Brielle’s shoes.
Then I noticed something else.
A small purple notebook on the floor.
Maya gasped behind me.
“Daddy, that’s mine.””
I picked it up.
The cover read:
*MAYA’S NIGHT JOURNAL*
Vanessa’s face went pale.
“Michael,” she said quietly.
“That’s private.””
I turned the first page.
Each entry was written in Maya’s careful handwriting.
*Monday: Vanessa said I have to sleep in the garage again.*
*Wednesday: Brielle said my room is better than mine because I don’t need nice things.*
*Friday: I cried, but I stayed quiet so nobody would get mad.*
My hands began to shake.
“Maya,” I said softly, “how long has this been happening?””
She looked at the floor.
“A long time.””
Vanessa stepped toward me.
“She exaggerates when she’s upset.””
I flipped deeper into the notebook.
More dates.
More nights.
More pages filled with things my daughter had endured while I was away believing she was safe in her own home.
Then I reached the end.
The final page had been torn out.
Only a jagged edge remained.
Maya stared at it, her face changing.
“That page was here,” she whispered.
I looked at Vanessa.
“What was on the last page?””
Vanessa said nothing.
But for the first time, she looked less angry than afraid.
I closed the journal.
“Everybody out,” I told Brielle’s friends.
One of the girls immediately grabbed her purse.
Brielle appeared in the doorway wearing an oversized sweatshirt.
“Mom, what's going on?””
“Nothing, sweetheart,” Vanessa replied quickly.
“Your stepfather is having one of his episodes.””
I turned toward her.
“Don't call this an episode.””
Brielle rolled her eyes.
“Dad, seriously? It's just a room.””
I looked at the clothes scattered across the floor.
“It's her room.””
“She doesn't even use half this stuff,” Brielle said.
“And she has the whole downstairs to herself.””
Maya shook her head.
“I don't.””
The room went quiet.
Brielle glanced at her.
“Don't start.””
I stepped between them.
“Don't speak to her like that.””
Vanessa put down her wineglass.
“Michael, you're embarrassing everyone. Brielle's friends are here. We can discuss this tomorrow.””
“No. We're discussing it now.””
I picked up Maya's rabbit and handed it to her.
Then I noticed a folded piece of paper sticking out of the back cover of the journal.
It was an old school permission slip.
On the bottom was Vanessa's signature.
Beside it, someone had written a sentence in blue ink.
*If Daddy comes home, don't let him see the room.*
I looked at Vanessa.
“Who wrote this?””
She reached for the paper.
I pulled it away.
“Michael, give me that.””
“Who wrote it?””
Her lips tightened.
Brielle suddenly stopped looking bored.
She looked terrified.
And then she said something I hadn't expected.
“Mom, you told me you burned that.””
Vanessa turned toward her so sharply that her wineglass tipped over.
“Brielle. Stop talking.””
I stared at my stepdaughter.
“What did she burn?””
Brielle swallowed.
“The other notebook.””
Maya's little fingers tightened around her stuffed rabbit.
I crouched beside her.
“Sweetheart, did you have another journal?””
She nodded.
“Where is it?””
Her eyes filled with tears.
“Vanessa said she threw it away. But I saw her put it in the office.””
Vanessa's expression changed.
For a moment, nobody moved.
Then she rushed toward the staircase.
I stepped in front of her.
“Where are you going?””
She looked me directly in the eyes.
“I'm going to bed.””
“No. You're going to tell me what happened to my daughter's journal.””
And from somewhere inside the office downstairs, I heard a drawer slam.
May you like
Someone else was in the house.
Someone who had just heard everything.
