Chapter 2 - The hand in the drawer
The thief was Heather.
I watched her enter Lydia's bedroom at 2:14 p.m.
At 2:16, she returned.
The bracelet glittered between her fingers.
There was no ambiguity.
No misunderstanding.
Heather stole it.
But then the recording became strange.
She didn't hide the bracelet in her own pocket.
She walked toward Louisa's tiny pink backpack.
I stopped breathing.
Heather opened it.
Then someone entered the room.
Lydia.
I expected Heather to panic.
She didn't.
The two women looked at each other.
Heather held up the bracelet.
And Lydia smiled.
I replayed those three seconds repeatedly.
This hadn't been theft.
It had been staged.
Heather slipped the bracelet into Louisa's backpack.
Lydia whispered something the camera couldn't capture.
Then they left.
Twenty minutes later, Lydia returned with Walter.
They searched Louisa's backpack.
The bracelet was gone.
Their expressions changed.
That part wasn't staged.
Someone had removed it.
Heather immediately blamed Louisa.
Then came footage I couldn't watch twice.
Lydia dragged my crying daughter toward the bathroom with clippers.
I closed the app.
My hands were shaking so badly I almost dropped the phone.
Why frame a three-year-old?
Why deliberately manufacture an excuse to punish her?
I called the police.
Then I downloaded every recording before anyone could delete it.
At 1:07 a.m., someone tried.
The camera disconnected remotely.
Too late.
I had everything.
Then my phone received a message from an unknown number.
A photograph.
Louisa and me entering the hotel.
Taken from across the street.
Beneath it:
You should have apologized.
I ran to the window.
Nobody.
Then another message appeared.
May you like
And this one contained four words that frightened me far more.
Ask who Louisa's father is.
