Chapter 4: What Sandra Was Still Hiding
Ryan came downstairs twenty minutes later.
Mia sat at the kitchen table beside Lily, eating toast.
Lily had given her the plate with the blue border, the one she always chose for herself.
She was watching Mia eat with the serious attention of a child who understood, without being told, that something important was happening.
Sandra stood at the counter with her arms folded, her back to the room.
Ryan pulled out a chair across from her and sat down.
"Start from the beginning."
Sandra turned.
She looked at the girls, then back at him.
"Not in front of—"
"They can go to the living room." He looked at Lily.
"Lily, sweetheart, can you take Mia and watch something on the tablet?"
Lily slid off her chair without a word, picked up the remaining toast, and held it out to Mia.
Mia took it and followed her down the hall.
Ryan waited until he heard the television.
"Start from the beginning," he said again.
Sandra sat down.
She pressed her palms flat on the table.
"Claire came to me when she was pregnant.
She didn't want you to know."
"Why."
"Because of the father."
Ryan went still.
"What about the father?"
Sandra looked at the table.
"His name is Derek Paulson.
He's—" She stopped.
"He's what?"
"He's dangerous, Ryan.
He was dangerous then and he still is.
Claire was terrified of him.
She left him when she found out she was pregnant and she begged me not to tell anyone who the father was.
Not you.
Not your parents.
Nobody."
"And you agreed to that."
"I was trying to protect her."
"And when she d*ed?
When Claire d*ed and left a two-year-old child — you still said nothing?"
Sandra's hands pressed harder against the table.
"Derek had already started asking questions.
After Claire d*ed, he hired someone to look for the baby.
He knew Claire had been pregnant.
He wanted to find Mia."
"So you hid her in our house."
"I hid her where no one would look." Sandra's voice rose slightly.
"I hid her where she was safe.
Where Derek couldn't get to her."
Ryan leaned forward.
"Sandra.
She was living behind a wall.
She was eating food our four-year-old smuggled to her.
She had no sunlight.
No school.
No doctor.
No—" He stopped himself.
He looked at the hallway.
He lowered his voice.
"She had nothing."
"She had me," Sandra said.
"I was with her every day while you were at work.
I taught her to read.
I—"
"You kept a child in a hidden room and told her not to make noise." Ryan's voice was flat.
"For three years."
Sandra's eyes filled.
"I didn't know what else to do."
"You could have told me."
"You would have gone to the authorities.
And Derek has connections.
He would have found out.
He would have taken her."
Ryan sat back.
He looked at his wife — this woman he had shared a bed with, a life with, a child with — and tried to find the person he thought he knew.
"Where is Derek Paulson now?" he asked.
Sandra's face changed.
Something behind her eyes shifted, and Ryan recognized it immediately.
He had seen that look twice before in their marriage.
Once when she had dented the car and waited two weeks to tell him.
Once when she had borrowed money from her mother without asking.
It was the look she wore when there was more.
"Sandra."
She stood up and walked to the kitchen window.
Her back was to him again.
"He's been looking for her," she said quietly.
"More actively.
In the last few months."
Ryan's chair scraped back.
"How do you know that?"
She didn't answer.
"How do you know that?"
"Because he found me," she said.
"Three months ago.
He came to the house when you were at work.
He said he knew Claire had a child and he said he would find her with or without my help." She turned around.
Her face was pale but her voice was steady.
"I told him I didn't know anything.
He didn't believe me.
He's been watching the house, Ryan.
I think he's been watching for weeks."
The kitchen was completely silent.
Ryan stood up slowly.
He walked to the front window and looked out at the street.
A grey car he didn't recognize was parked two houses down.
It had been there yesterday.
He had assumed it belonged to someone visiting the neighbors.
He let the curtain fall.
"Pack a bag," he said.
"For you and Lily.
And Mia."
"Ryan—"
"We're not staying here tonight."
He was already reaching for his phone.
He had a friend from university who was now a family law solicitor.
He had never needed to call him for anything serious.
He found the number.
His thumb hovered over it.
From the living room, he could hear Lily laughing at something on the tablet.
And underneath it, quieter, he could hear Mia laughing too.
May you like
A small, careful sound, like a child who wasn't sure yet if she was allowed.
He pressed call.
