Chapter 8 - THE STORAGE UNIT
I did not go to the storage unit myself.
Every angry part of me wanted to.
The smarter part called my attorney.
Her name was Dana Brooks.
She listened without interrupting.
Then she said, “Do not touch that unit.”
“Why?”
“Because if there’s evidence inside, we preserve the chain properly.”
Evidence.
I hated that word.
It made my life sound like a crime scene.
Maybe it was.
By noon, police were speaking with Rosa.
By afternoon, investigators had enough information to begin the process of obtaining access to the unit.
Meanwhile, Evan met me in the hotel lobby.
He looked terrible.
Same clothes.
No shave.
Red eyes.
He stopped ten feet away.
“Can I come closer?”
I appreciated the question.
“Yes.”
He sat across from me.
Maisie was beside me coloring a picture of a dinosaur.
Evan placed a stuffed rabbit on the table.
“For Maisie.”
She looked at it.
Then at him.
“Daddy sad?”
His face broke.
“A little.”
She pushed a blue crayon toward him.
“Blue.”
He took it.
“Thank you.”
For several minutes, they colored.
No speeches.
No promises.
Just a father coloring badly inside the lines while his two-year-old corrected him.
“Daddy no.”
“I know.”
“Here.”
“Okay.”
“Blue.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
I nearly smiled.
Then Evan looked at me.
“I started therapy.”
I blinked.
“When?”
“This morning.”
“That was fast.”
“I called four places.”
He looked down.
“Three couldn’t see me.”
“One could.”
I nodded.
“That’s good.”
“I’m not saying it fixes anything.”
“It doesn’t.”
“I know.”
He swallowed.
“I also gave police permission to examine my devices.”
“Why?”
“Because Mom had information she shouldn’t have.”
He pulled his phone from his pocket.
“I found something.”
My body tightened.
“What?”
“An app.”
He showed me.
It looked ordinary.
A family calendar.
Except it wasn’t.
It had been sharing location data.
Mine.
His.
Possibly Maisie’s tablet.
“Who installed it?”
“I don’t know.”
“When?”
“Three years ago.”
I stared at him.
“Your mother?”
“I think so.”
“You think?”
“She set up our phones when we switched carriers.”
Of course she did.
Margaret didn’t need keys.
We had handed her digital ones.
Evan rubbed his forehead.
“I feel stupid.”
“You were controlled.”
“That’s not the same as innocent.”
I looked at him.
That sentence mattered.
“I’m not going to use Mom as an excuse anymore.”
“Good.”
“I failed Maisie.”
“Yes.”
He nodded.
No defense.
“I failed you.”
“Yes.”
Another nod.
Then he said something I didn’t expect.
“I don’t want you to forgive me yet.”
I stared at him.
“Why?”
“Because I think I’d use forgiveness as permission to stop changing.”
For the first time since the birthday dinner, I saw the man I had married.
Not the boy Margaret raised.
The man.
He was still weak.
Still guilty.
Still far from trustworthy.
But he was there.
Buried somewhere.
My phone rang.
Dana.
I answered.
“They got into the storage unit.”
My pulse jumped.
“And?”
She went quiet.
“Claire, there are files on Maisie going back to before she was born.”
I closed my eyes.
“How?”
“Ultrasound records.”
“What?”
“Copies of prenatal appointments.”
“How did she get those?”
“We don’t know yet.”
Dana took a breath.
“And there’s a binder.”
“What binder?”
“It’s labeled M.H.”
I looked at my daughter.
Maisie Hale.
“What’s inside?”
May you like
Dana’s voice became very careful.
“A long-term custody plan.”
