Chapter 3: The File Named David
I stared at the word on the screen.
*David.*
My father’s name.
For a few seconds, I forgot about the cold.
I forgot about the locked door.
I forgot about Karen walking away inside the apartment like she hadn’t just trapped me outside again.
All I could see was that file.
My thumb hovered over it.
Part of me wanted to open it immediately.
Another part of me was afraid.
Because my mother had hidden it.
Not deleted it.
Not forgotten it.
Hidden it.
And whatever was inside had been important enough for her to protect.
The wind pushed against me, making me shiver.
I looked through the glass door.
Karen was standing in the kitchen.
She wasn’t on the phone anymore.
She was watching me.
Waiting.
Like she knew exactly what I was about to do.
I turned the phone away from her and opened the file.
The screen went black for a moment.
Then a video appeared.
The timestamp was three days before my mother died.
I stopped breathing.
My mother was sitting on the edge of our old couch.
The same couch where she used to read me bedtime stories.
The same couch where she held me when I was scared of thunderstorms.
But she looked different.
Tired.
Serious.
Like she was carrying something too heavy.
“Lily,” she said.
I immediately pressed the volume button closer to my ear.
“If you’re watching this, then you found the second recording.””
My eyes widened.
Second recording?
She knew there would be another one.
My mother looked down at something in her hands.
“I wish I could explain this to you myself.””
Her voice cracked slightly.
“But I need you to understand something.””
She leaned closer to the camera.
“Your father is not the person you need to be afraid of.””
I blinked.
My heart slowed.
Because I had been expecting something terrible.
Something about Dad.
But that wasn’t what she said.
My mother continued.
“David loves you. He loves me. But he has spent years believing the best in people.””
The video shook slightly.
Like she had moved the phone.
“Sometimes loving someone means wanting to believe they could never hurt you.””
I looked toward the apartment.
Karen was still there.
Still watching.
My mother whispered:
“But that can also make you blind.””
A noise came from inside.
The apartment door.
I looked up.
Karen was walking toward the balcony.
I quickly lowered the phone.
She stopped in front of the glass.
“Lily.””
I didn’t answer.
“Open the door.””
“No.””
Her eyebrows lifted.
“You’re going to freeze.””
“I thought you wanted me to think about what I did.””
Her lips pressed together.
She didn’t like that I remembered her own words.
“Lily, enough.””
I looked back at the phone.
My mother’s video was still playing silently.
Karen noticed.
And her eyes moved toward the screen.
“Did you open the other file?””
I froze.
She knew there was another file.
That scared me more than anything.
“How do you know?””
She didn’t answer.
Instead, she reached for the lock.
I stepped away.
“Don’t.””
“Lily.””
“Don’t come near me.””
For a moment, something almost human crossed her face.
Not kindness.
Not guilt.
Panic.
“Listen to me.””
“No.””
“You don’t understand what you’re doing.””
My fingers tightened around the phone.
“My mom wanted Dad to see this.””
Karen’s expression changed.
“Your mother didn’t understand everything.””
The words felt like a slap.
“You’re lying.””
Her face hardened.
“You’re seven years old. You don’t know what happened.””
“I know you locked me outside.””
Silence.
The sentence hung between us.
Karen looked away.
Then she said quietly:
“You’re making me the villain because it’s easier.””
I stared at her.
“You left me outside.””
She didn’t deny it.
That was the part I would remember forever.
She didn’t say, “I didn’t.””
She didn’t say, “You misunderstood.””
She just stood there.
And let the truth exist.
Then my mother’s voice suddenly came from the phone.
The volume had turned back on.
Karen heard it.
“David needs to know the truth about what happened before my accident.””
Karen went completely still.
My stomach dropped.
Before my accident?
I looked at the screen.
My mother continued.
“There are documents hidden in the place where Lily keeps her drawings.””
I looked around my room through the glass.
My drawings.
The old box under my bed.
My mother’s eyes on the screen became softer.
“Lily, if you find them, do not let anyone destroy them.””
The video froze.
A loading circle appeared.
Then the screen went black.
I stared.
“No.””
The phone battery icon flashed red.
One percent.
Karen saw it too.
Her fear returned.
“Give me the phone.””
I shook my head.
“No.””
“Lily, listen.””
“No!””
My voice cracked.
But I didn’t care.
“I’m finding the drawings.””
Karen’s face changed.
Because she knew exactly what I meant.
The old wooden box.
The one Dad built for me when I was little.
The one I kept under my bed.
The one full of every picture I ever made.
Including the ones my mother saved.
Karen backed away from the glass.
And that was when I knew.
The documents were real.
Because she was afraid of a child finding a box of drawings.
A few minutes later, I heard keys.
The balcony door unlocked.
But Karen didn’t open it.
Instead, she spoke through the small opening.
“Come inside.””
I didn’t move.
“Why?””
Her voice became softer.
Too soft.
“Because I made a mistake.””
I stared at her.
Those words sounded impossible coming from her.
“You’re sorry?””
“Yes.””
The answer came too quickly.
I didn’t believe it.
Karen sighed.
“Lily, I was angry. I shouldn’t have put you outside.””
She opened the door wider.
The warm air touched my face.
“You can come inside now.””
I stayed where I was.
Because my mother’s warning was still in my head.
Trust what you see.
Trust what you feel.
And what I saw was someone who only apologized after she got scared.
I slowly stepped inside.
But I kept the phone hidden behind my back.
Karen noticed.
She pretended not to.
That was worse.
She walked toward the kitchen.
“I’m going to make you some hot chocolate.””
I said nothing.
“You must be freezing.””
Still nothing.
She opened a cabinet.
Then another.
Her movements were calm.
Almost normal.
But her eyes kept searching.
Looking for the phone.
I walked upstairs.
Slowly.
Carefully.
Every step felt loud.
“Where are you going?”” Karen asked.
“My room.””
“Why?””
I turned.
“To find my drawings.””
The silence that followed told me everything.
Karen’s hand stopped on the cabinet handle.
“Maybe tomorrow.””
“No.””
“Lily.””
“My mom said they’re important.””
Her face went blank.
Then she smiled.
A small, controlled smile.
“Your mother said a lot of things when she was sick.””
My eyes burned.
“Don’t talk about her like that.””
For the first time, Karen looked genuinely surprised.
Maybe she expected me to stay quiet.
Maybe she forgot my mother had taught me how to be brave.
I went upstairs.
My room looked exactly the same.
My stuffed animals.
My books.
My little nightlight.
A place that used to feel safe.
I dropped to my knees and pulled the wooden box from under my bed.
The box was covered in dust.
My hands shook as I opened it.
Inside were drawings.
Hundreds of them.
Pictures of my family.
Pictures of my mom.
Pictures of me.
I moved them aside.
Nothing.
I searched deeper.
Still nothing.
Then I saw it.
A folded piece of paper taped beneath the bottom of the box.
My heart stopped.
I pulled it free.
There was writing on the front.
Not my handwriting.
Not Dad’s.
My mother’s.
Just three words.
*For Lily. Not Karen.*
I heard footsteps behind me.
Slow.
Approaching.
I turned.
Karen stood in my doorway.
And she wasn’t smiling anymore.
Her eyes were fixed on the paper in my hand.
May you like
Then she whispered:
“Lily… you need to give me that before your father finds out what your mother really knew.””
