Chapter 2
I sat on my daughter's bedroom floor with her little notebook in my hands.
Four hundred and eighty-seven dollars.
That was the amount Lily believed Denise had taken from her.
But the sentence at the bottom of the page hurt worse than the money.
Daddy doesn't want me anymore.
I looked at Lily.
"Sweetheart, who told you that?"
She rubbed her eyes.
"Denise."
"When?"
"Lots of times."
I tried to keep my voice calm.
"What exactly did she say?"
Lily looked toward the door.
"She said you were happy before I made everything difficult."
My throat tightened.
"Did she say anything else?"
Lily nodded.
"She said grown-ups sometimes want a new family."
I closed my eyes.
My first wife, Angela, had died three years earlier.
Lily was only five when we lost her.
For almost a year, my little girl had slept with Angela's favorite scarf wrapped around her pillow.
I'd promised myself that nobody would ever make her feel abandoned again.
And somehow, inside my own home, that was exactly what had happened.
I pulled Lily close.
"Listen to me. You are not making my life difficult."
She sniffled.
"But Denise said—"
"Denise was wrong."
I held her face between my hands.
"You are the best thing that ever happened to me."
Her eyes searched mine.
"Even when I make mistakes?"
"Especially then. That's when you need me most."
She finally leaned into my chest.
I stayed with her until her breathing slowed.
Then I asked something that had been bothering me.
"Why did you write down all these amounts?"
Lily pointed at the notebook.
"Mommy used to say important things should be written down so we don't forget."
I swallowed hard.
Angela had been an elementary school teacher.
She kept lists for everything.
Grocery lists.
Birthday lists.
Little notes about Lily's first words and favorite foods.
My daughter still remembered.
I kissed the top of her head.
"Your mommy was very smart."
Lily gave me a small smile.
Then she reached into the shoebox again.
"There's something else."
She pulled out a folded receipt.
I opened it.
It was from a jewelry store.
The purchase was a gold bracelet.
The amount was $460.
The date was December twenty-seventh.
Three days after Lily's Christmas money disappeared.
I stared at it.
"Where did you find this?"
"In the kitchen trash."
"Why did you keep it?"
Lily looked embarrassed.
"Because Denise bought a bracelet after she took my Christmas money."
I studied the receipt.
The card number was partly hidden.
I recognized the last four digits.
They belonged to Denise's personal debit card.
That didn't prove she'd used Lily's money.
But it raised questions I couldn't ignore.
"Has Denise told you not to talk to anyone about this?"
Lily nodded.
"She said family problems stay inside the family."
My stomach turned.
"Did she threaten you?"
"She said Grandma Ruth would stop visiting if I told lies."
I took a slow breath.
Then I made a decision.
"Lily, you're going to spend tonight at Grandma's."
Her eyes widened.
"Am I in trouble?"
"No, baby."
I hugged her.
"I just want you somewhere peaceful while I sort things out."
She grabbed my shirt.
"Are you coming too?"
"I'll take you there myself. And I'll stay until you're comfortable."
She nodded.
I packed her overnight bag.
Then I went downstairs.
Denise was sitting at the kitchen island, scrolling through her phone.
She looked up.
"Where are you going?"
"I'm taking Lily to my mother's."
Her expression sharpened.
"Why?"
"Because she needs a break."
"From what?"
I put the pink shoebox on the counter.
Denise's face changed.
Only slightly.
But I noticed.
"Recognize this?"
She stared at it.
"No."
I opened the box.
"This is Lily's record of the money you've taken."
Denise laughed.
"You're believing a child's imaginary accounting?"
"Four hundred and eighty-seven dollars."
"Marcus, please."
"Is that number wrong?"
She stood.
"You're interrogating me now?"
"I'm asking you a question."
She crossed her arms.
"I occasionally held money for her. That's what responsible parents do."
"Then where is it?"
"In a safe place."
"Which safe place?"
She hesitated.
I waited.
Finally, she said, "I used some of it for household expenses."
My stomach dropped.
"You spent it?"
"We're married. Our finances are shared."
"Her money is not our money."
"Don't be ridiculous. I've paid for Lily's clothes, food, school supplies—"
"So have I. I'm her father."
Denise slammed her hand onto the counter.
"I am sick of being treated like a stranger in this house!"
I stepped back.
"Nobody treated you like a stranger."
"You let that child control everything!"
"Don't blame Lily for your decisions."
Her eyes flashed.
"Your daughter has been manipulating you since the day we met."
I stared at her.
That sentence told me more than the entire argument.
I suddenly remembered Denise complaining whenever I took Lily to the park.
Whenever I bought her a birthday present.
Whenever Grandma Ruth invited us for Sunday dinner.
I'd mistaken jealousy for insecurity.
Now I saw how dangerous that mistake had been.
I picked up the shoebox.
"Do not discuss this with Lily again."
Denise laughed bitterly.
"What are you going to do? Divorce me over a child's allowance?"
I didn't answer.
Because I wasn't ready to say the word aloud.
An hour later, I arrived at my mother's house.
Ruth opened the door wearing her favorite blue sweater.
Her smile disappeared when she saw Lily's swollen eyes.
"What happened to my baby?"
Lily ran into her arms.
I followed them inside.
After Lily settled in the living room with a blanket and cartoons, I told my mother everything.
She listened without interrupting.
Then she asked one question.
"Marcus, have you checked the savings account I opened for Lily?"
I frowned.
"What savings account?"
Mom stared at me.
"The one I opened with you after Angela died."
I remembered signing paperwork years earlier.
I'd almost forgotten about it.
"I've been putting money into that account every month," Mom continued.
"How much?"
"Two hundred dollars."
My stomach tightened.
"For how long?"
"Almost three years."
I stood.
That was thousands of dollars.
Money meant for Lily's future.
"Has anyone else had access?"
Mom hesitated.
"Denise asked me for the account information last spring. She said you wanted everything organized."
I felt the blood drain from my face.
I grabbed my phone and opened the banking app.
The account was still listed.
But its balance was wrong.
Very wrong.
I stared at the screen.
There should have been several thousand dollars.
Instead, the available balance showed $12.43.
My mother covered her mouth.
"Marcus?"
I couldn't speak.
Then I opened the transaction history.
And there, beside a series of transfers, was a name I knew far too well.
DENISE WALKER.
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My wife hadn't just been stealing twenty-dollar bills.
She had been reaching into my daughter's future.
