Chapter 3
The sound of breaking glass stayed inside my ears long after the window shattered.
Maya clung to me.
I held her against the bedroom wall, shielding her head with my arms.
Neither of us moved.
Outside, tires screeched.
Then an engine roared down the street.
I waited for another crash.
Another noise.
Anything.
But the house became silent.
Too silent.
I looked at my daughter.
"Are you hurt?"
She shook her head.
Tears streamed down her face.
"Mom, I'm sorry."
I touched her cheek.
"Look at me."
She tried.
"Are you hurt?"
"No."
I pulled her close.
"Then that's all that matters right now."
My own hands were trembling.
I didn't know whether someone had thrown something through the window or fired at it.
I only knew we needed help.
I crawled toward the hallway with Maya behind me.
Once we reached the stairs, I checked my phone.
Two bars.
I called 911.
The dispatcher answered.
I gave our address.
Explained that an intruder had entered our house and someone had shattered my daughter's bedroom window.
I told her we'd been threatened.
She instructed us to move somewhere secure and avoid the windows.
We went into the downstairs laundry room.
I locked the door.
Then pulled Maya beside me.
She pressed her face against my shoulder.
"I'm sorry," she whispered again.
I stroked her hair.
"Stop apologizing."
"But I brought this to our house."
I pulled back.
"Maya, someone threatened you. That's not your fault."
She stared at me.
"You're going to be mad."
My heart broke.
Even now, with police on their way, she was afraid of disappointing me.
I cupped her face.
"Whatever you've been hiding, we'll deal with it together."
She started crying harder.
Then she nodded.
***
The police arrived within minutes.
Two officers searched the property.
Another spoke with Maya and me.
They found shattered glass inside her bedroom.
A heavy metal object lay on the carpet near the window.
It was a steel nut, the kind used on industrial machinery.
An officer collected it as evidence.
No one had been injured.
But whoever threw it had used considerable force.
Detective Naomi Brooks arrived later that morning.
She was a Black woman in her early forties with a calm voice and sharp eyes.
She listened to our account carefully.
Then she asked Maya:
"Do you know the man who entered your room?"
Maya hesitated.
I squeezed her hand.
She nodded.
"I think his name is Curtis."
The detective leaned forward.
"Curtis what?"
"Curtis Bell."
My heart tightened.
I'd heard that name before.
Marcus used to mention Curtis.
He was a field supervisor at the transportation company.
They'd worked together for years.
I remembered him attending Marcus's funeral.
He'd stood in the back of the church wearing a dark suit.
He hadn't spoken to me.
But he'd watched Maya for a long time.
I felt sick.
"You're sure?" I asked.
Maya shook her head.
"I never saw his face today."
She swallowed.
"But his voice sounded like the recording."
Detective Brooks nodded.
"That's important. We'll investigate it."
Then she asked about Marcus's laptop.
Maya's expression changed.
I looked at her.
"Sweetheart?"
She twisted her fingers together.
"I don't have it anymore."
My stomach dropped.
"What?"
"The laptop was stolen last week."
Detective Brooks sat straighter.
"Where?"
"From my locker."
I stared at her.
"You told me you lost your calculator."
Maya started crying.
"I was scared."
I wanted to ask a hundred questions.
Instead, I took her hand.
"Tell us everything."
She explained that she'd been researching Dad's death for almost a month.
After finding the recordings, she copied some files onto a small USB drive.
Then somebody began sending messages to her phone.
At first, the texts told her to stop looking.
Then they included photographs.
Our driveway.
Our front porch.
Me leaving for work.
I felt my chest tighten.
"Why didn't you tell me?"
Maya looked down.
"Because one message said they'd hurt you if I did."
The detective asked to see the messages.
Maya handed over her phone.
I watched Brooks read them.
Her expression became serious.
Then she looked up.
"Angela, we're going to take these threats very seriously."
I nodded.
My mouth felt dry.
"Is my daughter in danger?"
Brooks didn't avoid the question.
"Someone has been deliberately frightening her. We need to identify that person and make sure you're both protected."
She asked whether we had somewhere else to stay.
I thought immediately of my older sister, Patrice.
She lived forty minutes away.
We weren't as close as we'd once been.
After Marcus died, I'd withdrawn from almost everyone.
But I knew she'd open her door.
I called her.
She answered on the second ring.
"Angela?"
"Patrice, I need help."
Her voice changed immediately.
"What's wrong?"
I tried to speak.
Nothing came out.
Then I heard her say:
"Where's Maya?"
I started crying.
"She's with me."
"Are you both safe?"
"For now."
"Then come here."
***
That afternoon, the police helped us collect essential belongings.
Maya packed two changes of clothes.
I gathered medication, important documents, and my husband's photographs.
Before leaving, I walked into our bedroom.
Marcus's side of the closet was almost empty.
I'd donated most of his clothes two years earlier.
But his old navy jacket still hung behind the door.
I touched the sleeve.
For three years, I'd believed his death was a terrible accident.
Now my daughter was telling me he might have been murdered.
I sat on the edge of the bed.
And cried.
Not quietly.
Not politely.
I cried until my whole body shook.
Then Maya appeared in the doorway.
"Mom?"
I wiped my eyes.
She stepped closer.
"I'm sorry I started looking."
I shook my head.
"No."
She stopped.
I held out my arms.
She ran into them.
"Your father would want us to know the truth," I whispered.
"But he'd want you safe more than anything."
She nodded against my shoulder.
Then she whispered:
"Mom, there's something I haven't told the detective."
My heart sank.
"What?"
She looked toward the hallway.
"The USB drive wasn't in my backpack."
I stared at her.
"Where is it?"
She swallowed.
"I gave it to somebody at school."
"Who?"
"My history teacher."
I frowned.
"Why?"
"Because she knew Dad."
I pulled back.
"What do you mean she knew him?"
Maya looked frightened again.
"She told me Dad contacted her before he died."
I couldn't breathe.
May you like
Then Maya said:
"And Mom... she told me there was another person in his truck that night."
