Chapter 3: The Number He Almost Didn't Call
His daughter had fallen asleep in the back seat before they reached the end of the parking lot.
He drove three blocks, pulled over, and looked at the text again.
*"You need to see this before you make any decisions."*
He called.
It rang twice.
"I wasn't sure you would," the woman said.
Her voice was calm.
Older.
Careful.
"Who are you?"
"My name is Donna.
I was the caterer's assistant today.
I've been watching your fiancée for about six months."
He said nothing.
"I know that sounds strange," Donna said.
"But I need you to understand — I'm not a stranger to her.
I used to work for her.
Before she let me go."
"What does that have to do with my daughter?"
"What happened today wasn't the first time." A pause.
"It was just the first time anyone saw it."
His hand tightened on the wheel.
In the back seat, his daughter shifted in her sleep, her pink dress still smudged with frosting.
"What are you saying?"
"Three months ago," Donna said, "I was still working at her apartment.
Your daughter came for a visit.
You weren't there — you'd gone to pick up dinner.
I was in the kitchen.
I heard your fiancée tell that little girl that she was a mistake.
That you would have been better off if she'd never been born."
The street outside was quiet.
A couple walked past on the sidewalk, laughing at something.
He watched them without seeing them.
"She was six," he said.
"She was six," Donna agreed.
"And she cried the whole time you were gone.
When you came back, your fiancée told you she'd tripped and hurt herself.
You believed her."
He thought about that evening.
The takeout bags.
His daughter's red eyes.
*She fell, Daddy.
It's okay.* He had kissed her forehead and believed every word.
"Why didn't you say something then?"
"Because I needed proof.
And because I was afraid of her." Donna's voice dropped slightly.
"She is not who you think she is.
There are things she has done — things I can show you — that go well beyond today."
"What things?"
"Not on the phone.
Can you meet me tomorrow morning?
There's a diner on Calloway Street.
Eight o'clock."
He looked in the rearview mirror.
His daughter's cheek was pressed against the car seat, her small mouth slightly open.
"I'll be there," he said.
He ended the call and sat in the dark for a long moment.
Then his phone lit up again.
This time it was a number he knew immediately.
Her number.
He watched it ring.
He watched it stop.
He watched the screen go dark.
Then a text appeared.
*"We need to talk.
What happened today was a misunderstanding.
I love you.
Please don't do something you'll regret.
Call me back."*
He set the phone face-down on the passenger seat.
May you like
He started the car.
He drove home without calling her back.
