Chapter 2: What Was She Hiding?
I called the police dispatcher again while keeping the kitchen feed open on my laptop.
"She's trying to open the backpack," I said.
"I don't know what's inside it, but my daughter is terrified.""
The dispatcher asked whether Vanessa had a weapon.
"I haven't seen one.""
"Can you safely speak to your daughter?""
"Not without making things worse.""
That was the truth I hated most.
I was her father. I could lift half a ton of equipment with a crew and keep my balance on scaffolding six stories above the ground.
But through that little camera, I couldn't put myself between my child and the woman hurting her.
On the screen, Vanessa tugged at the zipper.
Nia held the bag shut.
"Give it to me," Vanessa ordered.
"No.""
The word was barely audible, but I saw it on Nia's lips.
Vanessa straightened.
"What did you say?""
Nia's fingers tightened around the fabric.
"I need it.""
"For what?""
Nia said nothing.
Vanessa laughed once, without humor.
"You think your father bought you that bag because he loves you? He buys things because he's guilty about never being here.""
I gripped the edge of the desk.
"Don't you dare," I muttered.
Vanessa bent until her face was inches from Nia's.
"Who cooks your breakfast? Who makes sure you get dressed? Who keeps this house running while your father plays hero at work?""
Nia looked down.
"Say thank you.""
"Thank you.""
"Look at me when you say it.""
Nia raised her eyes.
"Thank you, Vanessa.""
"Better.""
Vanessa stood, smoothed her robe, and returned to the island. She picked up a piece of pancake as casually as if she had just reminded a child to brush her teeth.
But I had noticed something else.
Every time Nia shifted, her knees bent under the backpack's weight.
The straps weren't merely uncomfortable. They looked stretched to their limit.
I enlarged the image.
The bag's bottom sagged unnaturally, pulling the fabric into a deep curve. It wasn't filled with books. I knew what a schoolbag looked like. Nia had used that same pink backpack for nearly a year.
Whatever was inside it, it was much heavier than school supplies.
I called Vanessa.
This time, she answered.
"Marcus, I am in the middle of something.""
"What did you put in Nia's backpack?""
A pause.
Then a little laugh.
"Her school things.""
"Take it off her.""
"She's perfectly capable of carrying her own belongings.""
"Vanessa, I watched you grab her. I watched her struggle. I'm watching you right now.""
Her smile faded.
"You've been spying on your own family?""
"I installed security cameras after we had that attempted break-in. You knew that.""
"Of course I knew. I just didn't realize you'd become so paranoid.""
"Put Nia on the phone.""
"She's cleaning.""
"Put. My. Daughter.
On. The. Phone.""
Vanessa glanced at the camera.
"She's busy, Marcus. You should focus on your job instead of inventing problems at home.""
Then she hung up.
I sat perfectly still for three seconds.
Then I called my supervisor and told him I was leaving. I grabbed my truck keys, shoved my laptop into my work bag, and ran downstairs.
Traffic on the expressway was crawling. Every red light felt personal. I kept replaying the footage, searching for an explanation that would make what I saw less horrifying.
Maybe the bag contained heavy books.
Maybe Vanessa was punishing Nia for something harmless.
Maybe I had missed some detail that would make this make sense.
But every excuse collapsed when I remembered my daughter's expression.
She had been protecting that backpack as though her life depended on it.
I called my sister, Danielle.
She answered with a mouthful of food.
"Marcus? What's wrong?""
"I need you to go to the house.""
"What happened?""
"I saw Vanessa mistreating Nia. I've called the police. Don't confront Vanessa alone. Just stay nearby and tell me what you see.""
Danielle went silent.
Then she said, "Marcus, I tried asking Nia about things last month. She told me everything was fine, but she wouldn't look at me.""
"Why didn't you tell me?""
"Because I thought she was adjusting. And because Vanessa told me you two were having trouble with discipline.""
My hands tightened around the steering wheel.
"What did she say about discipline?""
"That Nia was becoming defiant. That she needed stricter rules.""
I heard the fear in my sister's voice.
"Marcus, what did you see?""
I told her.
She stopped chewing.
"Oh, my God.""
"Get there, Danielle.""
"I'm going.""
She hung up.
On my laptop, Vanessa had returned to the table. Nia continued scrubbing the floor.
Then the front door opened.
A man stepped into the kitchen carrying a small cardboard box.
He wasn't someone I recognized.
Vanessa immediately stood.
She took the box from him and glanced at Nia.
Then she pointed toward the hallway.
"Go to your room," she ordered.
Nia didn't move.
The man looked at the backpack.
"Is that the one?"" he asked.
Vanessa's face changed.
She turned sharply toward him.
"Not here.""
But the camera caught enough for me to read her lips.
Not here.
The man looked uncomfortable.
"I told you this was a bad idea.""
Vanessa stepped closer and lowered her voice.
"You told me you'd help. So help me.""
He set the box on the counter.
Nia watched them.
Her small hands began trembling.
I reached for my phone to call the dispatcher yet again.
Then the man glanced toward the security camera.
He pointed at it.
Vanessa followed his gaze.
For the first time that morning, she looked genuinely frightened.
May you like
She grabbed the box and hurried toward the hallway.
And the camera feed went black.
