Chapter 4: What Claire Never Told Me
I didn't sleep that night.
I sat at the kitchen table with Claire's old laptop open in front of me — the one I'd never been able to throw away — and I went through every email folder I had avoided for four years.
Claire had been organized.
She kept everything.
I found the folder in under twenty minutes.
She had labeled it simply: *D.*
There were forty-three emails inside, spanning from before Lily was born to seven weeks before Claire passed.
The earliest ones were calm.
Formal.
The language of someone trying to manage a difficult situation with dignity.
*Daniel, I've asked you not to contact me at this address.*
*Daniel, the order is in place for a reason.
Please respect it.*
*Daniel, I'm going to forward this to my attorney.*
The later ones were different.
The last email in the folder had no subject line.
Claire had written it at 4:17 in the morning.
*I don't know if you'll ever read this and I don't know why I'm writing it.
I think I just need to say it somewhere.
He's been outside the house again.
I saw him from the upstairs window.
He didn't do anything.
He just stood there.
Lily was asleep.
I didn't call the police because I didn't want to wake her up and I didn't want her to see the lights.
I know that doesn't make sense.
I know I should have called.
I just stood at the window and waited until he left and then I went and checked on Lily and she was fine.
She was completely fine.
She had her arm around the stuffed rabbit.
I just want her to always be that safe.
I want her to never know that any of this exists.*
I closed the laptop.
I sat in the kitchen until the sky outside started to lighten.
Then I called my attorney.
"It's early," said a voice.
"I know.
I'm sorry, Paul.
I need to know everything about Daniel Voss's current legal status.
Restraining order, any violations, any new record.
And I need to know if there's any way he could pursue a paternity or visitation claim."
A pause.
"What happened?"
"My mother has been in contact with him.
For three months.
She showed him a photograph of our house.
He told her three weeks ago that he knows what school Lily attends."
Another pause, longer this time.
"Okay.
Give me until nine.
Don't contact your mother again until we've spoken."
"Understood."
"And lock the doors."
I already had.
At seven, I walked Lily to school by a different route.
I stood at the gate until she was inside the building.
The teacher on duty, a woman named Mrs.
Hadley who had known Lily since reception, saw my face.
"Everything all right?"
"I need to speak with the head teacher today.
Before pickup.
Can you arrange that?"
Mrs.
Hadley looked at me for a moment.
"I'll make sure of it."
I walked home.
I checked every room.
I made coffee I didn't drink.
At nine-fifteen, Paul called back.
"The original restraining order expired two years ago," he said.
"It was never renewed because Claire passed before the renewal date and you weren't aware it needed to be maintained separately.
Voss has no criminal convictions on record, though there are two prior incidents that were documented but not prosecuted.
He has no legal parental status — your adoption is airtight.
He cannot file for visitation.
But."
I waited.
"But none of that stops him from showing up somewhere public.
A park.
A school gate.
Anywhere Lily might be.
Legally, without a new order in place, there's nothing preventing him from being in the same space as her."
"How do I get a new order?"
"You need documented evidence of threatening or harassing behavior directed at you or Lily.
What your mother told you is hearsay.
The photographs are concerning but were taken by your mother, not by him.
I can file for an emergency protective order, but a judge will want more than what you have right now."
"Then I need more."
"Yes," Paul said.
"You do."
I hung up and looked at my phone for a long moment.
Then I called Marlene.
She picked up on the second ring.
"I need every message Daniel Voss ever sent you," I said.
"Every one.
Screenshots, emails, anything written.
I need it today."
Silence.
"Marlene."
"He trusted me," she said.
"Your granddaughter walks to school every morning," I said.
"He told you he knows which school it is.
Send me everything."
A longer silence.
"There's something else," she said finally.
"Something he told me that I didn't tell you last night."
My hand tightened on the phone.
May you like
"He said he's been watching the school gate," she said.
"He said he's already seen her."
