Chapter 2 - THE EMPTY BEDROOM
David moved toward the staircase.
The trooper blocked him.
“Sir, stay where you are.”
“My daughter is upstairs.”
His voice cracked.
I finally spoke.
“No, David.”
He turned.
“What does that mean?”
I could see denial forming inside him.
Not grief yet.
Denial.
The stubborn belief that reality would rearrange itself simply because he demanded it.
“Where is Lily?”
I looked at the man who had ignored fifty calls from an ICU.
“She died twelve days ago.”
David stopped moving.
Julianne covered her mouth.
Even Agent Cole lowered his eyes for a moment.
David stared at me as though he had forgotten how language worked.
“No.”
“She died at 11:17 p.m.”
“No.”
“I was holding her hand.”
“No.”
“She asked whether you were coming.”
His knees weakened.
The state trooper instinctively reached for his arm.
David pulled away.
“Don’t touch me.”
Then he looked at me again.
“You’re lying.”
I nodded toward his phone.
“Check your blocked calls.”
David dragged it from his pocket.
His fingers shook against the screen.
He opened the call history.
Nothing.
Then he remembered.
He had blocked my number.
I watched that realization arrive.
David unblocked me.
The screen refreshed.
Dozens of missed calls appeared.
Then the messages.
David, please answer.
Lily is in the ICU.
They’re taking her into surgery.
Please call me.
She keeps asking for you.
David, this is not about us.
Please answer for your daughter.
He scrolled faster.
His breathing became shallow.
Then he reached his own final message.
Stop suffocating me with your anxiety, Maya.
Below it was mine.
Sent three minutes later.
David, Lily may die tonight.
He had never opened it.
The phone slipped from his hand.
It struck the hardwood floor.
Julianne started crying.
David did not.
Not yet.
He looked toward the staircase again.
“Her room.”
I understood.
I moved aside.
Agent Cole hesitated before nodding to the troopers.
David walked upstairs between them.
He entered Lily’s bedroom.
I had removed almost everything from the mansion.
But I had left her room untouched.
Her stuffed rabbit was still beneath the blanket.
Her purple sneakers were beside the closet.
Stars still glowed faintly across the ceiling.
On her desk sat an unfinished drawing of the three of us.
Mommy.
Daddy.
Lily.
David picked it up.
His legs gave way.
He sat on the edge of her bed.
Then he saw the small white envelope beside her pillow.
His name was written across the front in Lily’s uneven handwriting.
FOR DADDY.
David reached for it.
I spoke from the doorway.
“She wrote that before your trip.”
His hand stopped.
For several seconds, he only stared at the envelope.
Then he whispered.
“Can I read it?”
I looked at him.
May you like
“You can read it after the agents finish telling you what you stole from her.”
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