Chapter 4
The blood in Vivian’s car belonged to someone else.
That was what Detective Kent told us two hours later.
Not Vivian.
Not Emily.
Unknown.
Fresh.
The car had been abandoned near the old service road behind the estate, its driver’s door open, engine still warm, and a bloody towel stuffed beneath the seat.
Vivian was gone.
So was one of her security guards.
The one I had kicked.
His name was Owen Vale.
He had worked for Vivian for eight years.
He had also been listed in several files from the basement cabinet.
Detective Kent believed he had helped her escape.
Arthur wanted every road blocked.
Every airport watched.
Every hotel searched.
He had money.
Influence.
Rage.
But the detective’s face told me what she did not say out loud.
Vivian had more.
By noon, the story had leaked.
Not all of it.
Enough.
A waitress found a missing girl hidden behind a painting at a charity gala.
The headline spread like fire.
Reporters gathered outside the mansion gates.
Guests posted videos.
Vivian slapping me went viral before lunch.
So did Emily’s bound wrists.
So did Arthur shouting, “You told me she drowned.”
The world finally saw the crack in the perfect Blackwood house.
But the world did not have to live inside it afterward.
Emily did.
Arthur wanted to take her home at once.
Detective Kent explained gently that the mansion was a crime scene and Emily needed medical care.
Child services arrived.
The moment the woman introduced herself, Emily screamed.
Not cried.
Screamed.
She grabbed my waist with both arms and buried her face in my stomach.
“No. No. No. She said they would take me away. She said they would put me in the quiet hospital.”
The child services worker looked pained.
Arthur stepped forward.
“She is my granddaughter.”
“We need emergency placement approval,” the woman said.
“She stays with me.”
“There are procedures.”
The room went cold.
Arthur’s grief turned into something harder.
“Procedures buried my granddaughter for two years.”
The woman flinched.
Detective Kent stepped in.
“We can request temporary kinship placement with Mr. Blackwood under police protection.”
Emily whispered, “Grace too.”
Everyone looked at me.
I froze.
“I’m not family.”
Emily’s grip tightened.
“You opened it.”
My throat closed.
Arthur looked at me with tired, pleading eyes.
“You don’t have to,” he said. “But if you can stay for a little while, I will make sure you are paid for your time. Properly. Safely. Whatever you need.”
Paid.
The word felt strange in that room.
I had rent due in three days.
My uniform shoes had holes in the soles.
My phone bill was already late.
But none of that was why I nodded.
“I’ll stay tonight,” I said.
Emily breathed for the first time in minutes.
That night, we did not stay at the mansion.
Arthur owned a smaller house near the river, one he had moved into after Vivian pushed him out of the main estate with claims of failing health.
It had warm lamps, old books, framed family photos, and no hidden doors.
Police parked outside.
A nurse came to check Emily.
Arthur’s lawyer arrived with emergency papers.
Detective Kent placed two officers at the front and back entrances.
Still, Emily would not sleep unless I sat beside her.
So I sat on the floor near her bed while Arthur slept in a chair by the door.
Emily watched me through the dark.
“Did you know my mommy?”
“No.”
“She had yellow sweaters.”
I smiled sadly.
“Did she?”
“And she sang when she made pancakes.”
“That sounds nice.”
Emily’s voice got smaller.
“Aunt Vivian said Mommy left because I cried too much.”
My chest hurt.
“She lied.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“Because mothers don’t stop loving their children because they cry.”
Emily stared at the ceiling.
“Did your mommy love you?”
The question hit a bruise inside me.
“Yes,” I said.
It was the truth.
My mother had loved me.
She had also died when I was nine.
Love does not always get to stay.
Emily turned her head.
“Where is she?”
“Heaven, I hope.”
“And your daddy?”
I swallowed.
“I don’t know.”
“Did he hide you?”
“No. He lost himself.”
She thought about that.
“That’s sad.”
“Yes.”
“I’m sorry.”
I almost cried then.
This child had been locked in walls and still had room to be sorry for me.
I reached up and touched her blanket.
“Sleep, Emily.”
She closed her eyes.
For a few minutes, the room was quiet.
Then my phone buzzed.
Unknown number.
I glanced at Arthur.
He was asleep.
I stepped into the hall and answered in a whisper.
“Hello?”
A woman’s voice said, “Grace Miller?”
My body went cold.
“Who is this?”
“You should have put the painting back.”
I stopped breathing.
Vivian.
Her voice was calm.
Almost bored.
“Leave my family alone,” she said.
“Emily is not yours.”
A soft laugh.
“Everyone belongs to someone with enough power.”
I looked toward the bedroom.
Emily was still asleep.
“You’re going to prison.”
“No, Grace. I’m going to disappear. You are going to become the confused waitress who made up a story for attention.”
My hand shook.
“It was recorded.”
“Recordings can be questioned. Witnesses can be bought. Children can be diagnosed.”
“You won’t get near her again.”
Silence.
Then Vivian said, “I’m already nearer than you think.”
The line went dead.
At the same moment, the lights in the house went out.
Emily screamed from the bedroom.
May you like
Arthur shouted my name.
Glass shattered downstairs.
