The rough texture of the paper felt icy against my trembling fingertips as I unfolded it in the cold morning air. Written across the middle in my oldest daughter’s elegant, neat cursive were seven sharp, impossible words that made my lungs lock up. He won’t leave this house alive either. Daniel wiped a bead of cold sweat from his forehead, his eyes darting frantically toward the busy street as if expecting someone to step out from the shadows.
He leaned in close, his voice cracking into a panicked whisper as he recounted those brief minutes I was in the garage. The moment the heavy door had clicked shut, the warm, polite demeanor of both girls vanished like mist. My youngest hadn’t just smiled; she had silently pulled a worn, faded leather wallet from her cardigan pocket—a wallet that belonged to the second man I had dated six months ago.
Daniel pulled his arm away from my grip, backing toward his parked car with absolute, unadulterated terror written across his pale face. He begged me to pack my bags, grab my keys, and get out of the house before dinner tonight.
What monstrous truth was hidden beneath the floorboards of our quiet home? Go to the next part to discover the horrifying truth…
