Chapter 4: The House Behind the Perfect Curtains
I spent the next hour trying to convince myself there had to be another explanation.
A misunderstanding.
A coincidence.
Anything.
But every answer led back to Brenda’s house.
I took Lily to my apartment instead of her home.
She sat on my couch wrapped in a blanket, watching the door.
Not television.
The door.
Children weren’t supposed to watch doors.
They were supposed to watch cartoons.
They were supposed to complain about vegetables.
They were supposed to ask for snacks every twenty minutes.
They weren’t supposed to calculate escape routes.
“Lily,” I said.
She looked at me.
“Do you remember anything else?””
She hesitated.
Then nodded.
“When the man came, Mrs. Cole told us to be quiet.””
“What man?””
“He wore a gray jacket.””
“Did you know him?””
“No.””
“What did he do?””
She looked down.
“He took pictures.””
My stomach twisted.
“Pictures of what?””
“Us.””
I immediately called Rachel.
Then I called the police.
While we waited, I searched Brenda Cole’s name online.
At first, nothing appeared.
Perfect neighborhood.
Charity events.
Community awards.
Photos of Brenda smiling beside local families.
Then I searched deeper.
A forgotten article appeared.
A headline from nine years earlier.
LOCAL GIRL MISSING AFTER PRIVATE SLEEPOVER.
The picture beside the article was blurry.
But I recognized the house.
Brenda’s house.
The missing girl was eight years old.
Her name was Chloe Harris.
I stared at the screen.
Eight years old.
The same age as Lily.
The same name.
The same shoes.
A knock came at the door.
I froze.
Lily froze too.
Another knock.
“Daniel?””
It was Rachel.
I opened the door.
She rushed inside and hugged Lily so tightly my niece finally broke.
She cried.
Really cried.
The kind of crying she had been holding back since the night before.
“I’m sorry,” Rachel whispered.
“I’m so sorry.””
Lily buried her face in her mother’s shoulder.
Then someone knocked again.
This time harder.
A police officer stood outside.
Behind him was another person.
Brenda Cole.
She looked completely different from the woman in the driveway.
Calm.
Controlled.
Prepared.
“She stole my property,” Brenda said.
The officer looked confused.
“Ma’am?””
“My daughter’s belongings.””
Everyone went silent.
Brenda reached into her bag.
And pulled out a photograph.
A photograph of Lily.
Taken inside Brenda’s house.
Wearing the same shoes.
Standing beside the sleeping bags.
Rachel gasped.
“That’s impossible.””
Brenda smiled.
“No.””
She looked directly at Lily.
“That’s exactly the problem.””
The officer frowned.
“Mrs. Cole, what are you saying?””
Brenda held up another photo.
This one was older.
Much older.
A picture of six children standing in the same living room.
And behind them…
May you like
was Chloe Harris.
Alive.
