The living room door flew open before Vanessa could squeeze June’s wrist again.
“Let her go.”
My voice hit the room harder than I expected. Vanessa jerked around. June tore free and crashed into Mara’s side. Lily was already on her knees by the sofa, pulling out a cracked blue phone with a strip of silver tape across the back.
“I recorded her,” Lily said.
That was the first thing I heard after my daughters’ breathing. Not crying. Breathing. Sharp, quick, controlled, like they’d practiced staying quiet.
Cal stepped in behind me and shut the door. Vanessa tried to smile, but it came too late and sat wrong on her face.
“Ethan, thank God,” she said. “Your daughters are overreacting.”
Lily held the phone toward me with both hands. “She said not to tell you. She said you’d send Mara away if we did.”
I took the phone. The screen was spiderwebbed, but the audio file was still open.
I pressed play.
Vanessa’s voice filled the room, thin and ugly through the cheap speaker.
“When your father isn’t here, you answer to me. Cry again and I’ll make sure Mara is gone by Friday.”
Then June’s little voice.
“Please don’t.”
No one moved.
Even the house felt still. The diffuser in the corner kept pushing vanilla into the air, and it made my stomach turn.
Vanessa recovered first. She folded her arms and looked at the girls, not me.
“So this is what we’re doing now? Secret recordings? In my fiancé’s house?”
“In my house,” I said.
Her eyes snapped to mine.
Mara stayed between Vanessa and the girls. One hand rested on Lily’s shoulder. The other kept June tucked against her hip. I noticed then that her wrist was shaking.
“Take the girls to the breakfast room,” I said.
Lily shook her head so fast her ponytail slapped her cheek.
“No. She lies when we leave.”
