Chapter 1
The first time my neighbor told me she'd seen my daughter sneaking home during school hours, I thought she was mistaken.
The second time, I became worried.
By the third time, I was hiding beneath my thirteen-year-old daughter's bed, listening to a strange man walk into her bedroom.
And what I heard him say made me realize my little girl had been living with a secret that could destroy our family.
My name is Renee Holloway.
I'm thirty-nine years old, a divorced mother, and until that terrible Friday morning, I thought I knew everything about my daughter, Maya.
We lived in a peaceful neighborhood outside Boston, Massachusetts.
Our little white house wasn't fancy, but it was ours.
After my divorce from my ex-husband, Derek, two years earlier, I had worked hard to give Maya a stable life.
I worked as an office administrator at a medical clinic.
Some weeks, I barely had enough energy to cook dinner.
But I always made time for my daughter.
At least, I thought I did.
Maya had always been an easy child.
She did her homework without being reminded.
She helped with laundry.
She rarely complained.
Her teachers described her as mature, responsible, and unusually thoughtful.
I believed them.
Then one Thursday morning, my neighbor stopped me beside my car.
"Renee, sweetheart, can I ask you something?"
Mrs. Patterson was seventy-one, widowed, and famous for knowing everything that happened on our street.
I smiled.
"Of course."
She glanced toward my house.
"Has Maya been sick lately?"
I frowned.
"No. Why?"
"Well, I've seen her coming home during school hours."
I laughed nervously.
"That can't be right."
Mrs. Patterson's face grew serious.
"I've seen her three times this week."
My stomach tightened.
"Three times?"
She nodded.
"And yesterday, someone came with her."
"Someone?"
"A man."
My smile disappeared.
"What man?"
"I couldn't see his face. He wore a dark jacket and kept his head down."
A cold sensation spread through my chest.
"Are you sure it was Maya?"
Mrs. Patterson touched my arm.
"I've known that child since she was six. I wouldn't confuse her with anybody."
I thanked her and drove to work.
But my mind stayed at home.
I remembered how Maya had been acting lately.
She'd lost weight.
She barely touched breakfast.
She startled whenever her phone vibrated.
Last Tuesday, I'd found her sitting on the bathroom floor, crying.
When I asked what was wrong, she blamed a disagreement with a friend.
I'd believed her.
Now every little detail felt different.
At lunchtime, I called her school.
The receptionist checked the attendance records.
"According to our system, Maya is present today."
Relief washed over me.
"Has she missed any classes recently?"
"Her attendance is marked as regular."
I thanked her.
Maybe Mrs. Patterson really had been mistaken.
That evening, I made Maya's favorite dinner.
Chicken Alfredo.
Garlic bread.
Strawberries for dessert.
She sat across from me wearing her oversized blue sweatshirt.
"How was school?" I asked.
"Fine."
"Anything interesting happen?"
"Not really."
I watched her push pasta around her plate.
"Mrs. Patterson thinks she saw you home yesterday."
Her fork stopped moving.
Only for a second.
Then she laughed.
"Mrs. Patterson sees everybody."
"She said you weren't alone."
Maya looked up.
"What?"
"She mentioned a man."
The color drained from her face.
Then she forced a smile.
"Mom, I was at school."
"Are you sure?"
Her eyes filled with something I couldn't identify.
Fear.
Not annoyance.
Not teenage embarrassment.
Fear.
"I promise," she whispered.
I wanted to believe her.
So badly.
That night, I lay awake staring at the ceiling.
At two in the morning, I heard footsteps in the hallway.
My bedroom door opened slightly.
Maya stood there.
"Mom?"
I sat up.
"What's wrong, baby?"
She hesitated.
"Do you think people can get in trouble for something they didn't do?"
My heart squeezed.
"Of course. But the truth usually comes out."
She looked down.
"What if nobody believes them?"
I held out my arms.
"Come here."
For a moment, I thought she would.
Instead, she stepped backward.
"Never mind."
Before I could stop her, she returned to her room.
I sat awake until sunrise.
By morning, I'd made a decision.
I wasn't going to accuse Maya again.
I was going to find out what was happening.
I called my supervisor and requested the morning off.
Then I followed our usual routine.
I packed Maya's lunch.
Checked her backpack.
Kissed her forehead.
"Have a good day, sweetheart."
She hugged me tighter than usual.
"You too, Mom."
I watched her walk toward the bus stop.
Then I drove away.
But instead of heading to work, I circled the neighborhood.
I parked behind a row of hedges near the vacant house at the end of our street.
After waiting fifteen minutes, I slipped through my back door.
Our house was silent.
I went straight to Maya's bedroom.
Her bed was neatly made.
A stuffed rabbit sat against her pillow.
On her desk was a framed picture of us at Cape Cod.
I stared at her smiling face.
What could my daughter possibly be hiding?
Then I heard a vehicle outside.
Panic took over.
I dropped to my knees and slid beneath her bed.
The space was narrow.
Dust tickled my nose.
My shoulder pressed against a storage box.
I silenced my phone.
Then I waited.
Nine o'clock passed.
Then nine-fifteen.
By nine-twenty, my legs were aching.
I almost crawled out.
Maybe Maya really was at school.
Maybe I had let fear turn me into a suspicious mother.
Then I heard the front door unlock.
My entire body stiffened.
Footsteps crossed the hallway.
One set was light.
The other was heavy.
A man's voice murmured something I couldn't understand.
Then Maya whispered:
"Please, not in here."
The bedroom door opened.
From beneath the bed, I saw my daughter's white sneakers.
Beside them stood large black leather boots.
A stranger was inside my little girl's bedroom.
My heart beat so violently I was certain he'd hear it.
"Did you bring it?" the man asked.
Maya's voice trembled.
"Yes."
"Good girl."
I pressed a hand over my mouth.
He took another step.
"Your mother still doesn't suspect anything?"
Maya didn't answer.
The man laughed softly.
"Remember what I told you. If she finds out, everything gets worse."
I felt sick.
Then something slid across the bedroom floor.
A photograph stopped inches from my face.
I could see only part of it.
A woman standing beside a silver car.
I recognized the woman immediately.
It was me.
The photograph had been taken outside my workplace.
May you like
Then the man spoke again.
"Now, Maya, tell me exactly what time your mother comes home."
