Chapter 10 - WHAT WAS SUPPOSED TO HAPPEN NEXT
Detective Collins asked Marissa one final question.
"What did Linda plan to do after the coffee incident?"
Marissa looked terrified.
"I don't know."
"Think carefully."
Marissa wiped her eyes.
"She said everyone would blame the mother."
"Why?"
"Because you would panic."
I felt sick.
"Then what?"
"Then Ben would take Ellie to his parents."
My heart stopped.
"Without me?"
Marissa nodded.
"Linda said you'd be too emotional."
I looked at Ben.
He looked devastated.
"Did she say anything else?"
Marissa whispered:
"She said once Ellie was staying there, you'd have to come to them."
Rachel stood.
"Did she plan to keep the child from her mother?"
Marissa nodded.
"She said she would make Ben understand that you were unstable."
Everything suddenly made sense.
The family messages.
The accusations.
The pressure to forgive.
The insistence that I was emotional.
The story had been designed before the coffee was thrown.
Linda hadn't lost control.
She had created a crisis.
Then she intended to use my reaction to control what happened next.
I thought about the moment in the hospital.
My hands shaking.
My voice breaking.
My panic.
They had expected that.
They wanted it.
But they hadn't counted on Dad.
They hadn't counted on the phone.
They hadn't counted on the security recordings.
And they certainly hadn't counted on Ben choosing his daughter.
The next hearing was different.
There was no sympathetic grandmother narrative anymore.
There was evidence.
Messages.
Video.
Audio.
Witness testimony.
Medical records.
Security footage.
The judge issued a temporary protective order.
Linda was prohibited from contacting Ellie.
She was prohibited from entering our home.
She was prohibited from contacting me except through attorneys.
Gary received separate restrictions because of his involvement in the cover-up.
Marissa agreed to cooperate with investigators.
Ben sat beside me afterward.
"I don't know what happens now."
I looked at him.
"Neither do I."
"Do you still want a divorce?"
The question caught me off guard.
I hadn't said the word yet.
But I had thought it.
Every night.
Every time I looked at Ellie.
Every time I remembered Ben standing beside the refrigerator.
"I don't know."
He nodded.
"I understand."
He didn't ask me to stay.
That mattered.
A week later, Ellie came home.
She still had healing burns.
She still woke during the night.
But she smiled again.
That first morning, she walked into the kitchen and pointed at the coffee maker.
I froze.
Then she stepped backward.
Ben saw it.
He immediately unplugged the machine.
"We don't have to use that."
Ellie looked at him.
Then reached for his hand.
He crouched.
"I'm sorry, sweetheart."
She didn't understand the words.
She hugged him anyway.
I watched them.
For the first time, I saw Ben as a father rather than a husband.
Maybe that was what had been missing.
He had finally realized that being a good son didn't mean sacrificing his child.
One evening, Dad came over.
He brought pizza.
We sat around the table.
Ellie ate cheese from the top.
Dad smiled.
"She has your stubbornness."
I laughed.
"Unfortunately."
Ben smiled too.
For a moment, it almost felt normal.
Then there was a knock at the door.
We all stopped.
I checked the camera.
Nobody was there.
Another knock.
Then an envelope slid beneath the door.
No name.
No return address.
Dad picked it up.
"Don't open it."
But I already knew.
Someone had been watching.
Someone had been waiting.
Rachel arrived twenty minutes later.
She opened the envelope with gloves.
Inside was a photograph.
It showed Ellie leaving the hospital.
The picture had been taken from across the street.
On the back were six words.
YOU WON'T ALWAYS BE THERE.
My blood ran cold.
Ben stood.
"We need to call the police."
Dad nodded.
But Rachel was staring at the photograph.
"Wait."
"What?"
She pointed to the corner.
There was a reflection in a car window.
A person holding the camera.
The image was blurry.
But not completely.
Rachel zoomed in.
I recognized the coat.
My stomach dropped.
"That's Marissa."
Dad looked at me.
"No."
I shook my head.
"That's not possible."
But it was.
The woman who had supposedly cooperated with police.
The woman who had given us the messages.
The woman who had claimed Linda was responsible.
She had been watching my daughter.
Then my phone rang.
Unknown number.
I answered.
Nobody spoke.
Then a man's voice whispered:
May you like
"Linda isn't the only person you should be afraid of."
The call ended.
