PART 4
Grant didn’t answer.
Not immediately.
He simply stared at me.
One second.
Two.
Three.
Then he laughed.
It wasn’t a natural laugh.
It was the kind people make when they’re buying themselves time.
“Vanessa?”
I nodded.
“Yes. Vanessa.”
His eyes shifted toward the kitchen window.
“Why are you asking me about her at four in the morning?”
“Because Paige sent me a video.”
His face changed.
Barely.
But this time I was watching for it.
“I saw you with her at Little Pines.”
Grant’s mouth opened slightly.
Then closed.
“You were there that morning,” I continued.
He swallowed.
“Nat, I told you—”
“You told me you brought Lucy to daycare alone.”
“I did.”
“No.”
My voice shook.
“But the camera shows Vanessa.”
He stared at me.
“That doesn’t mean anything.”
“It means you lied.”
His expression hardened.
“You’re grieving.”
There it was.
The sentence he had used whenever I questioned anything.
“You aren’t thinking clearly.”
I felt something inside me become strangely calm.
Five days ago, those words would have destroyed me.
Tonight, they made me angry.
“I’m thinking more clearly than I have all week.”
Grant stepped closer.
“Nat, you just lost our daughter.”
“I know.”
“You think I don’t know that?”
“I think you know exactly what happened to Lucy.”
He froze.
The kitchen suddenly felt silent.
Then he whispered,
“How could you say that?”
I didn’t answer.
He looked toward the hallway.
Then back at me.
“You think I killed our daughter?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You don’t have to.”
His voice cracked.
For a moment, he looked exactly like the grieving father everyone believed he was.
Then I remembered the video.
The silver packet.
The trash can.
Vanessa.
The protein drink.
The blue thread.
And Daniel’s voice.
There were two injectors documented when we arrived.
I stared at Grant.
“Where was Lucy’s second injector?”
He didn’t respond.
“Grant.”
“I don’t know.”
“You were with her.”
“I told you, I panicked.”
“You told me it was empty.”
“I thought it was.”
“You threw away her backpack.”
“I thought it was contaminated.”
“You cleaned the kitchen before I came home.”
“Because I couldn’t stand looking at it.”
“You’ve had an answer for everything.”
He rubbed his face.
“Because I’m trying to survive this too.”
“Then tell me the truth.”
“I am.”
“No.”
I shook my head.
“You aren’t.”
Grant suddenly slammed his palm against the counter.
“Enough!”
I flinched.
He immediately lowered his voice.
“Sorry.”
I stared at him.
He looked at his hand as if surprised by his own anger.
Then he said quietly,
“You need sleep.”
“No.”
“You haven’t eaten properly.”
“No.”
“You need help.”
“I need the truth.”
He looked at me for a long moment.
Then he said something that made my blood run cold.
“Some truths won’t bring Lucy back.”
I felt my heart stop.
It was such an innocent sentence.
Such a reasonable sentence.
But something about it sounded like a warning.
I took one step backward.
Grant noticed.
“Nat?”
“I’m going upstairs.”
He nodded.
“Good.”
I walked past him.
But I didn’t go upstairs.
I went into the small office beside the kitchen.
I closed the door.
Locked it.
Then I sat behind Grant’s desk.
This was his private space.
He always told me there was nothing interesting inside.
Tax records.
Business documents.
Old contracts.
Nothing I needed to worry about.
Tonight, I opened every drawer.
The first two contained ordinary paperwork.
The third contained receipts.
The fourth contained pens and cables.
Then I noticed the bottom drawer was locked.
I searched the desk.
No key.
I looked at the bookshelf.
Nothing.
Then I remembered the way Grant had reacted when I mentioned Vanessa.
Not anger.
Fear.
I opened his laptop.
Password protected.
I knew the password.
Or I thought I did.
I typed Lucy’s birthday.
Wrong.
Our wedding anniversary.
Wrong.
His mother’s birthday.
Wrong.
I stopped.
Then tried the date Lucy died.
The screen opened.
I stared at it.
Grant had changed his password after Lucy died.
To the date of her death.
My stomach twisted.
I opened his email.
Thousands of messages.
Work.
Bills.
Insurance.
Nothing.
Then I searched one word.
Vanessa.
Twenty-seven results.
I clicked the newest.
It was from three days before Lucy died.
The subject line was:
We need to stop.
The message contained only one sentence.
You promised me she wouldn’t be involved.
My hands began shaking.
I clicked the reply.
Grant had written:
She won’t know anything. Just follow the plan.
I covered my mouth.
I kept reading.
The next email was from Vanessa.
What about Lucy?
Grant’s response:
I’ll handle Lucy.
I stopped.
The room blurred.
I couldn’t breathe.
I scrolled.
There were no more replies.
Then I saw an attachment.
A PDF.
I opened it.
It was a daycare authorization form.
Lucy was listed as the child.
Grant’s name appeared under emergency contact.
But beneath it was another name.
Vanessa Reed — Authorized pickup.
The authorization date was six weeks earlier.
I had never signed it.
I stared at the screen.
My daughter had been taken out of daycare by Vanessa before.
Without my knowledge.
I kept scrolling.
Another email.
Another attachment.
Then a photo.
It showed Vanessa standing beside Lucy.
They were outside a grocery store.
Lucy wasn’t smiling.
Her little hand was gripping Vanessa’s sleeve.
I zoomed in.
Lucy was holding something.
A small blue toy.
No.
Not a toy.
A bracelet.
Blue fabric.
My heart began pounding.
The same color as the thread Daniel had found in Lucy’s hand.
I saved the photo to my phone.
Then I heard the office door handle move.
I nearly dropped the laptop.
“Nat?”
Grant.
I closed the email.
“One second.”
The handle stopped moving.
“Why did you lock the door?”
I looked around.
“Because I needed privacy.”
Silence.
Then:
“Open the door.”
I didn’t move.
“Nat.”
His voice was different now.
Not gentle.
Not grieving.
Controlled.
“Open the door.”
I opened the laptop again.
The screen showed another email.
This one had been sent two months earlier.
From Vanessa.
She knows about the allergy. We have to be careful.
Grant replied:
That’s why I chose the daycare.
I stared at the sentence.
My stomach turned.
That’s why I chose the daycare.
The daycare.
Little Pines.
I had thought I chose it because of its allergy protocols.
But Grant had insisted on Little Pines.
He had said it was closer to his office.
He had said the teachers seemed experienced.
He had said Lucy would love it.
Why had he actually chosen it?
I heard the door handle move again.
“Nat.”
I quickly forwarded the emails to myself.
Then I took photographs of the screen.
I closed the laptop.
I unlocked the door.
Grant stood outside.
He looked at me.
Then at the desk.
“What were you doing?”
“Looking for Lucy’s medical records.”
His eyes narrowed.
“You could have asked me.”
“I didn’t think you’d give them to me.”
“What does that mean?”
I walked past him.
He grabbed my wrist.
Not hard.
But enough.
I looked down at his hand.
He released me immediately.
“I’m sorry.”
I pulled my arm away.
“Don’t touch me.”
His face changed.
“Nat…”
“I need to go to my mother’s.”
“You can’t drive like this.”
“I’ll take a taxi.”
“At four in the morning?”
“Yes.”
He stepped in front of me.
“You’re not leaving.”
I looked at him.
“Why?”
He didn’t answer.
“Why can’t I leave?”
“I don’t want you alone.”
“Or you don’t want me talking to anyone?”
He went silent.
That was when I knew.
I walked around him.
He didn’t stop me.
I went upstairs.
Packed a bag.
Took Lucy’s stuffed rabbit.
Then I remembered the tiny white urn.
I couldn’t leave her behind.
I carried it downstairs.
Grant stood by the front door.
His face was pale.
“You’re really leaving?”
“I need time.”
“We’re married.”
“I know.”
“We’re supposed to be grieving together.”
I looked at him.
“We were.”
He flinched.
Then I left.
I didn’t go to my mother’s.
I went somewhere else.
My law office.
The building was empty, but I had access.
I locked myself inside a conference room and opened the files I had saved.
Then I called Paige.
She answered immediately.
“Are you safe?”
“Yes.”
“Is Grant with you?”
“No.”
She exhaled.
“Good.”
“Paige, I need you to tell me everything.”
There was silence.
Then she said,
“Lucy was scared of Vanessa.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know.”
“How long had she known her?”
“About two months.”
“Did Vanessa ever pick her up?”
Paige hesitated.
“Three times.”
My chest tightened.
“You knew?”
“Grant gave permission.”
“I didn’t.”
“I know.”
“Then why didn’t you call me?”
“I tried.”
“What?”
“I called the number listed on Lucy’s emergency file.”
“That was my number.”
“I know.”
“Nobody called me.”
Paige’s voice became quiet.
“Someone changed the emergency contact number.”
I froze.
“What?”
“Your number was still there, but someone had added another number as the primary contact.”
“Whose?”
“Vanessa’s.”
I closed my eyes.
“Paige.”
“Yes?”
“Why did Lucy say ‘milk lady’?”
Paige inhaled.
“Because Vanessa used to bring her snacks.”
My eyes opened.
“What snacks?”
“Cookies.”
“Milk?”
“Yes.”
My stomach dropped.
“Paige, did Lucy ever eat them?”
“She said no.”
“Did Vanessa ever insist?”
“Once.”
“When?”
“The day before Lucy died.”
I gripped the phone.
“What happened?”
“Lucy refused the cookie.”
“Then what?”
“Vanessa became angry.”
“How angry?”
“Enough that I stepped in.”
My voice became barely audible.
“What did Vanessa say?”
Paige paused.
Then whispered:
“She told Lucy that if she kept being difficult, Mommy would disappear.”
I couldn’t speak.
Paige continued.
“I asked Vanessa to leave.”
“And Grant?”
“He came ten minutes later.”
My blood ran cold.
“Did he say anything?”
“He asked why I had upset Vanessa.”
I felt tears filling my eyes.
“Paige…”
“I’m sorry.”
“No.”
I wiped my face.
“Don’t apologize.”
Then Paige said something else.
Something that changed the entire case.
“Natalie, there’s one thing I haven’t told you.”
“What?”
“Lucy left something with me.”
My heart stopped.
“What?”
“A drawing.”
“Of what?”
“A woman.”
“Vanessa?”
“No.”
Paige’s voice trembled.
“Of your husband.”
I couldn’t breathe.
“What did she draw?”
“A house.”
“And Grant?”
“He was standing outside it.”
“Was Lucy in the drawing?”
“No.”
“Then who was inside?”
Paige was silent.
“Three people.”
My stomach tightened.
“Who?”
“Your husband.”
“Vanessa?”
“No.”
“Then who?”
Paige whispered:
“Another little girl.”
I felt the room tilt.
“What little girl?”
“I don’t know.”
“Paige, please.”
“I didn’t understand it at first.”
“What did Lucy say?”
Paige took a breath.
“She pointed at the drawing and said…”
Another pause.
“That’s Daddy’s other family.”
I couldn’t move.
My daughter’s words echoed in my head.
Daddy’s other family.
Then my phone buzzed.
A message from an unknown number.
There was no text.
Only a photograph.
I opened it.
It was a picture of Grant.
Standing beside Vanessa.
And between them…
was a little girl.
She looked about five years old.
She had Grant’s eyes.
I stared at the screen.
Then another message arrived.
You have been asking the wrong question, Natalie.
I typed:
Who are you?
The reply came immediately.
Someone who tried to warn Lucy.
Then:
And someone who knows why your husband needed her gone.
