Chapter 2: The Woman in the Photograph
The police took us to a family assistance center on the other side of town.
It was a quiet building with beige walls, vending machines, and a small playroom filled with donated toys.
Mom didn't touch the dinner they brought us.
She sat on the edge of the bed, staring at her phone.
I sat beside her with my stuffed rabbit in my lap.
“Mom, who's Laura Mitchell?””
Mom turned off her phone.
“She's someone your father knows.””
“His girlfriend?””
Mom looked away.
I felt something twist inside my stomach.
“Does Dad have another family?””
“No, sweetheart.””
“Then why did you look like that when the police said her name?””
Mom took a long breath.
“Because Laura was my best friend.””
I blinked.
“What?””
“We met when I was twenty-two. She was my maid of honor when I married your father.””
I tried to imagine the woman who had been following Dad's car.
A woman who had once stood beside Mom in a wedding dress.
“Why would she be with Dad?””
Mom didn't answer immediately.
Then she opened an old photograph on her phone.
It showed three people standing outside a restaurant.
Mom was younger, smiling.
Dad stood beside her.
And between them was a blonde woman wearing a red coat.
“That's Laura,” Mom said.
I looked closer.
“Why are you all together?””
“Because she helped your father and me buy our first house.””
Mom's voice cracked.
“She was there when you were born. She held you before I did because I was too weak to lift my arms.””
I stared at the photograph.
I had never heard about this woman.
“Why did she disappear?””
Mom locked her phone.
“That's a long story.””
“Tell me.””
Before she could answer, someone knocked on the door.
Officer Bennett entered carrying a paper bag.
“I brought you both some sandwiches.””
Mom thanked her.
The officer placed the bag on the table.
“Mrs. Carter, I spoke with the detective assigned to your husband's case. He wants to ask you about the previous reports tomorrow.””
Mom nodded.
Officer Bennett glanced at me.
“Emily, would you like to spend a little time in the playroom? There's a television and some coloring books.””
“I want to stay with Mom.””
“That's okay.””
After the officer left, Mom finally opened the sandwich.
She took one bite and put it down.
“Emily, there's something I've been meaning to tell you.””
I waited.
“Your father wasn't always like this.””
“I know.””
“He used to be kind. He used to make me laugh. When we first got married, I thought I had found the safest person in the world.””
“Then why does he hurt you?””
Mom looked at her hands.
“Because somewhere along the way, he decided that loving someone meant controlling them.””
I didn't understand everything she said.
But I understood enough.
My father wanted Mom to be afraid.
And he wanted me to believe that being afraid was normal.
That night, I woke up at 2:17 a.m.
Mom was standing near the window.
She had her phone pressed against her ear.
“I told you not to contact me again,” she whispered.
I sat up.
“Mom?””
She turned quickly.
“Go back to sleep, sweetheart.””
But I had already heard the voice coming through the phone.
It was a woman's voice.
“Listen carefully, Rachel. You don't understand what you've done.””
Mom's face went white.
“Laura, I swear—”
“Don't swear anything. Your husband is furious. And now you've dragged the police into it.””
Mom lowered her voice.
“You knew what he was doing to us.””
A pause.
Then Laura laughed.
Not loudly.
Not nervously.
It was a cold little laugh.
“I knew exactly what he was doing.””
Mom's hand began shaking.
“Then why did you help him?””
“Because you were never supposed to find out about the money.””
I slipped out of bed.
Mom saw me.
Her expression changed instantly.
“Laura, don't call this number again.””
She ended the call.
For several seconds, neither of us spoke.
Then I asked the question that had been sitting in my chest.
“What money?””
Mom sat on the bed.
She looked exhausted.
“Your father and I had a savings account. It was supposed to be for your college education.””
“How much?””
“Almost eighty thousand dollars.””
My mouth fell open.
“Where is it?””
Mom looked at the phone.
“Gone.””
“Dad took it?””
She nodded.
“But that's not all.””
She reached into her suitcase and removed a small envelope.
Inside were several printed bank statements.
I couldn't understand most of the numbers, but I recognized one name appearing repeatedly.
Laura Mitchell.
Mom pointed to a transaction.
“Your father transferred money into an account under her name.””
“Why?””
“I don't know. But when I confronted him, he said it was none of my business.””
I stared at the papers.
“Can the police get the money back?””
“Maybe.””
Mom folded the statements.
“But your father has something else. Something he has been hiding for years.””
“What?””
Before she could answer, her phone buzzed.
A text message appeared.
Unknown Number:
*You should have stayed quiet. Now Emily will learn what kind of mother you really are.*
Mom dropped the phone.
I picked it up.
Another message arrived.
This one contained a photograph.
It showed me standing outside my school that afternoon, wearing my pink backpack.
Someone had taken it from across the street.
Underneath the photograph were seven words.
May you like
*Your daughter is not as safe as you think.*
Mom screamed.
