Chapter 3
I sat perfectly still.
Tasha's words echoed through the dining room.
The dishes aren't the worst thing.
I looked at her.
“What do you mean?”
She wiped her face.
Then glanced toward the staircase.
“Mom will be furious if she knows I told you.”
I leaned forward.
“Tasha, look at me.”
She hesitated.
“You're eighteen. You can tell me the truth.”
Her eyes filled.
“I know.”
“Then please.”
She took a shaky breath.
“Lily has a list.”
I frowned.
“What list?”
“A chore list.”
My stomach tightened.
“For a four-year-old?”
Tasha nodded.
“Mom puts it on the refrigerator when you're at work.”
I stood immediately.
Then stopped.
I didn't want to frighten Tasha.
I sat back down.
“What does the list say?”
She swallowed.
“Laundry. Dishes. Picking up my room.”
My heart began pounding.
“What else?”
“Wiping the kitchen cabinets.”
I stared at her.
“And sometimes cleaning the bathroom floor.”
I couldn't breathe.
My four-year-old daughter.
Cleaning bathrooms.
Doing an eighteen-year-old's laundry.
Standing at the sink until she could barely keep her eyes open.
I covered my face.
For a moment, I felt physically sick.
Tasha began crying harder.
“I'm sorry.”
I looked up.
She was trembling.
“I should've told you.”
I took a breath.
“Yes, you should have.”
She nodded.
“I know.”
I softened my voice.
“But I'm glad you're telling me now.”
She wiped her cheeks.
Then whispered, “There's more.”
My stomach tightened.
“What?”
“Mom tells Lily not to mention the chores when you're home.”
I stared at her.
“Why?”
“Because she says you'll spoil her if you know.”
I closed my eyes.
Tasha continued.
“She tells Lily that good children don't complain.”
I felt sick.
“And if Lily cries?”
Tasha looked down.
“Mom sends her to the laundry room.”
My heart stopped.
“What?”
“She makes her sit there until she's quiet.”
I stared at Tasha.
The laundry room was beside the garage.
It had a small window.
A narrow bench.
And shelves filled with cleaning supplies.
It wasn't a place where a frightened child should be isolated.
“How long?”
Tasha's voice shook.
“Sometimes twenty minutes.”
I swallowed.
“Sometimes longer.”
My hands began trembling.
“Did she lock the door?”
Tasha shook her head quickly.
“No. Not that I saw.”
I exhaled slightly.
But relief didn't last.
A four-year-old had been sent away for crying.
Inside her own home.
While adults continued their evening.
I stood.
Then looked toward the refrigerator.
It was covered with photographs and magnets.
I opened the door.
Nothing.
No list.
I turned toward Tasha.
“Where is it?”
She stood.
“Mom takes it down before you come home.”
I stared at her.
“Where does she put it?”
Tasha hesitated.
“Her office.”
I took a breath.
“Do you have a photograph?”
She nodded.
My heart pounded.
She opened her phone.
Then showed me an image.
It was a white sheet of paper taped to our refrigerator.
At the top, in bold black letters, were the words:
LILY'S DAILY RESPONSIBILITIES.
Below was a list.
Wash dishes.
Fold laundry.
Clean Tasha's room.
Put away shoes.
Wipe counters.
No dessert until work is finished.
No cartoons if chores are incomplete.
I stared at the screen.
Then I noticed something worse.
At the bottom, Denise had written:
DO NOT DISTURB MARCUS WITH COMPLAINTS.
My chest tightened.
She hadn't simply assigned inappropriate chores.
She'd created a system to keep my daughter silent.
I looked at Tasha.
“When did you take this?”
“Three weeks ago.”
“Why?”
Her eyes filled.
“Because I knew something was wrong.”
I swallowed.
“Did you take other pictures?”
She nodded.
“A few.”
I sat down slowly.
“Can you show me?”
She opened another photograph.
Lily stood beside a laundry basket almost as tall as her waist.
Her hair was messy.
She wore pink pajamas.
Her little face looked exhausted.
Another photograph showed her standing beside a pile of unfolded towels.
My eyes burned.
Then Tasha showed me a video.
I almost couldn't watch.
Lily was trying to fold a large bedsheet.
She kept losing her grip.
The sheet fell onto the floor.
Then Denise's voice sounded from behind the camera.
“Again, Lily.”
My daughter looked toward her.
“It's too big.”
Denise sighed.
“Stop making excuses.”
Lily tried again.
The sheet slipped.
She began crying.
And Denise said something that made my entire body go cold.
“Your daddy isn't here to rescue you.”
I stopped the video.
For several seconds, I couldn't speak.
Tasha was crying.
“Marcus, I'm sorry.”
I looked at her.
“Please send the original files to me without changing anything.”
She nodded.
Then I asked one more question.
“Did Denise tell you to record Lily?”
Tasha shook her head.
“No.”
“Then why did you?”
She looked ashamed.
“Because I wanted proof.”
My heart tightened.
“Proof of what?”
“That I wasn't imagining how mean Mom was being.”
I stared at her.
Tasha wiped her cheeks.
“I kept telling myself she was just strict.”
She swallowed.
“But Lily started getting scared whenever Mom walked into the room.”
I closed my eyes.
Then Tasha whispered something heartbreaking.
“She asked me once if you would stop loving her when she got older.”
My throat tightened.
“What?”
Tasha began crying.
“She said Mom told her people only keep little girls around if they're useful.”
I couldn't breathe.
My daughter believed love had conditions.
At four years old.
I stood slowly.
Then walked toward the living-room window.
Outside, the yard was dark.
The patio lights glowed softly.
Everything looked peaceful.
A beautiful house.
An expensive neighborhood.
A family that appeared happy from the outside.
But inside, my child had been learning to fear the people responsible for protecting her.
I pressed my hand against the window.
Then I felt tears slip down my face.
I remembered Rachel's final days.
She'd held Lily in her arms.
Kissed her little forehead.
And whispered, “My baby deserves a beautiful life.”
I'd promised to give her that.
Now I wondered how many nights my daughter had gone to sleep believing she wasn't good enough.
I wiped my face.
Then turned toward Tasha.
“Thank you for telling me.”
She nodded weakly.
“Are you going to send Mom away?”
I took a breath.
“I need to make sure everyone is safe and understand what happened.”
Tasha looked frightened.
“She's going to blame me.”
I sat beside her.
“You shouldn't have been put in this position.”
She began crying again.
I continued.
“You're not responsible for managing your mother's behavior.”
Tasha looked down.
“I should've protected Lily.”
“Yes,” I said gently.
“You could have helped sooner.”
She nodded.
“But you can help now by telling the truth.”
She looked at me.
Then whispered, “I will.”
At that moment, I heard footsteps behind us.
Denise stood at the dining-room entrance.
Her face was hard.
“What exactly are you two discussing?”
Tasha immediately went pale.
I turned toward my wife.
And before I could speak, Denise looked at the phone in Tasha's hand.
Her expression changed.
Then she whispered angrily, “You showed him?”
Tasha began trembling.
I stepped between them.
Denise stared at her daughter.
May you like
“I warned you what would happen if you betrayed me.”
And suddenly, I realized Tasha had been afraid for a reason.
