Chapter 3 - Shadows in the Sunlight
The hallway air felt suffocatingly warm after the air-conditioned chill of the bathroom. I kept my hand firmly tucked inside Maisie’s small, cold palm, feeling the frail rhythm of her pulse. We stepped out into the bright light of the kitchen, where the hum of the refrigerator seemed deafening.
Through the window above the sink, I could see Adam standing by the grill, flipping a row of patties. Smoke plumed upward, catching the golden afternoon sunlight. Brooke was leaning against the patio table, laughing as she handed a red plastic cup to my brother-in-law. To anyone looking from the street, it was the picture-book definition of an American family summer.
"Mom?"
I jumped slightly. Adam was standing at the sliding glass door, holding a pair of metal tongs. He wiped sweat from his forehead with the back of his forearm, looking irritated. "Are you guys okay? You’ve been in there forever. People are asking when the burgers are coming off."
He slid the door open, letting a wave of humid air and loud laughter flood the kitchen.
"Maisie's stomach was bothering her," I said, keeping my voice level, though every muscle in my body was coiled like a spring. "She needed a little help."
Adam sighed, an exhausted, dismissive sound that cut deeper than a shout. "She always makes a production out of nothing. Brooke is right—if you pay attention to every little whine, she'll never toughen up."
"Toughen up," I repeated, the words tasting like poison. "She's four years old, Adam."
"Mom, don't start," he groaned, pointing the tongs toward the grill. "We're having a good day. Just bring her out. She needs to eat."
He turned back toward the patio without waiting for an answer. The casual indifference in his stride—the utter lack of suspicion—sickened me. He truly believed he had covered his tracks. He believed that blood ties and family silence would keep his secret buried beneath burgers and beer.
"Grandma?" Maisie whispered, tugging on my fingers again. "Are we going out there?"
"Not yet, sweetheart," I murmured, my eyes locking onto the kitchen counter where Brooke’s phone lay facedown beside the swim lesson receipt.
An idea bloomed in my mind—risky, desperate, but entirely necessary. If I was going to pull my granddaughter out of this nightmare, I needed undeniable evidence that wasn't just a child's word against her parents. I needed the texts, the admissions, the proof of what happened at that morning's swim lesson.
"Listen to me, Maisie," I whispered, crouching down so we were eye-to-eye. "I need you to be very brave for just a few minutes longer. Can you sit right here on this stool and count to fifty for me? Grandma has to grab something important."
She nodded bravely, her big eyes reflecting the kitchen lights. "Don't leave me, Grandma."
"I'll be right here, right across the room. I promise."
I stood up, walked swiftly to the counter, and picked up Brooke’s phone. The screen lit up instantly, flashing a notification from a group chat with a row of heart emojis. It was locked with a passcode.
May you like
My heart hammered against my ribs. I stared at the screen, wondering how I could possibly guess a six-digit code, when a small prompt flashed at the bottom: Face ID recognized.
Brooke hadn't locked her phone against me because she never expected me to look.
