Chapter 2 - THE LIST BEHIND THE CLOSET DOOR
After Isabella showered, I found clean pajamas in her bedroom.
The room looked almost exactly the way I remembered it.
White furniture.
Books lined neatly across the shelves.
A stuffed rabbit beside the pillow.
A photograph of Isabella and me from our trip to Mallorca.
At first glance, nothing seemed wrong.
Then I noticed the closet.
There were faint pencil marks beside the doorframe.
Small lines.
Numbers.
Dates.
I leaned closer.
March 4.
March 6.
March 7.
March 9.
Some dates had one mark.
Others had three.
“What are these?”
Isabella froze behind me.
“Nothing.”
I turned.
She was clutching the sleeve of my jacket around herself even though she had changed clothes.
“Sweetheart.”
Her eyes filled with fear.
“She’ll get mad.”
“She isn’t coming into this room.”
Isabella looked toward the hallway.
I closed the bedroom door.
Then I locked it.
Only after hearing the click did she move.
She walked toward the closet and opened it.
Behind a row of dresses was a sheet of paper taped to the wall.
It was a chore schedule.
But it wasn’t a normal chore schedule.
Monday.
Clean kitchen floor.
Tuesday.
Carry garden waste.
Wednesday.
Wash terrace furniture.
Thursday.
Sort laundry.
Friday.
Clean guest bathrooms.
Saturday.
Garden cleanup.
Sunday.
“Extra work for complaining.”
I read that line twice.
Beside several days were handwritten notes.
Too slow.
Talked back.
Forgot glass.
Cried.
I felt my jaw tighten.
“Who wrote this?”
Isabella didn’t answer.
She didn’t need to.
I recognized Beatriz’s handwriting.
Another paper was taped beneath it.
It was a list of rules.
No calling Dad without permission.
No contacting house staff who no longer work here.
No entering the office.
No speaking about family matters outside the house.
The final rule was underlined twice.
Do not embarrass Beatriz.
I took out my phone.
Isabella immediately grabbed my wrist.
“Please.”
I stopped.
“She checks my room.”
“Not anymore.”
“You don’t know that.”
There was no accusation in her voice.
That made it worse.
There was only experience.
I photographed both sheets.
Then I removed them carefully and placed them inside my suitcase.
Isabella watched.
“She’ll notice.”
“I want her to.”
That frightened her.
So I corrected myself.
“No.”
I knelt beside her.
“I want her to understand that the rules changed today.”
Isabella looked at me.
“What rules?”
I took her hand.
“The ones where you’re scared inside your own home.”
Her lips trembled.
May you like
Then she whispered something I wasn’t prepared for.
“This isn’t my home anymore.”
