Chapter 4 - THE SCREWS ON THE FLOOR
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At 6:10 the next morning, Chicago woke beneath a low ceiling of steel-gray clouds.
Rain streaked the hospital windows in thin diagonal lines, and the city beyond
looked blurred, as if someone had dragged a wet brush across the skyline. Daniel had
not slept.
He sat beside Lily’s bed with his coat folded beneath his head and one hand resting
near her blanket. Eleanor slept upright in a chair on the opposite side, arms
crossed, chin against her scarf. Lily woke first. She blinked at the unfamiliar
ceiling.
Then she turned her head and saw Daniel. “Daddy?” He was awake instantly. “I’m right
here.” She reached for him. He leaned over carefully and lifted her into his arms.
For several minutes, they did not talk. Lily listened to his heartbeat. Daniel
listened to her breathe.
He wondered how many ordinary mornings he had wasted rushing through breakfast,
checking email, finding keys, complaining about traffic. He would have given
anything to return to one of them. “Are we going home?” Lily asked. Daniel closed
his eyes. That question had no simple answer anymore.
“Not to the apartment today.” “Why?” He looked at Eleanor, who had awakened. She
gave him a small nod. Because he was her father. Because difficult truths should not
always be handed to someone else.
“Something scary happened there,” he said. “We’re going somewhere safe while
grown-ups fix things.” Lily thought about that. “Grandma’s house?” Eleanor smiled
through exhaustion. “Yes, baby. Grandma’s house.” Lily relaxed. The answer was
immediate. Daniel noticed. Again. Everything he had failed to notice before now
seemed illuminated.
At 7:00 a.m., Detective Naomi Cole returned. She had coffee in one hand and a sealed
evidence bag in the other. Inside the bag were four small metal screws. Daniel
stared at them. “Where did those come from?” Naomi sat across from him. “Your
balcony.”
Eleanor straightened. Daniel’s chest tightened. Naomi continued. “The maintenance
team and our crime-scene unit inspected the railing after the building manager
reported your wife taking a screwdriver. One decorative safety panel near the corner
had four fasteners. Two were fully removed. Two were loosened.”
Daniel did not understand at first. His mind rejected the shape of the information.
“Are you saying Rebecca removed the panel?” “We are saying the panel was
deliberately loosened.” “Yesterday?” “Fresh tool marks are present. We’re processing
the screws and surrounding surfaces.” Eleanor covered her mouth.
Daniel shook his head. “No.” Naomi did not react. He stood. “No. The glass was bad
enough. But this—why would she—” “We don’t know motive yet.” “She would have had to
know Lily might go near that balcony.” “That is one possibility.” Daniel began
pacing.
The hospital room suddenly felt too small. “She told me the planter was moved
because she wanted more sunlight in the living room.” Naomi looked up. “What
planter?” “There was a large ceramic planter in front of that section. Heavy. It
partially blocked the lower gap.”
“When was it moved?” Daniel stopped. “I noticed it two days ago.” “Who moved it?”
“Rebecca said she did.” Naomi wrote that down. Eleanor’s face changed. “Daniel.” He
turned. “She moved the planter. She took a screwdriver. Then she threw the glass.”
“Eleanor,” Naomi said calmly, “I understand where your mind is going. Let us
establish sequence and intent before we decide what it means.” But Daniel’s mind had
already gone there. And it hated him for following. “What did Rebecca say in her
interview?” “I can’t share everything.”
“Did she admit taking the screwdriver?” Naomi paused. “She said she used it to
tighten a loose cabinet handle.” “In the apartment?” “Yes.” “There are screwdrivers
in my kitchen drawer.” “We are aware.” Daniel sat down again. The room was silent
except for rain tapping the glass.
Lily had begun coloring at a small table with Camille, who had arrived moments
earlier. She did not appear to understand the adult conversation, but every time
voices tightened, her crayon slowed. Eleanor noticed and moved closer to the child.
Naomi lowered her voice.
“We’re applying for a warrant to examine electronic devices and account activity. We
also obtained the building’s hallway footage.” Daniel remembered Martin’s call.
“What else does it show?”
“Rebecca leaves at 3:51 and returns at 3:54 with the screwdriver. At 4:02, Mrs.
Brooks exits the elevator. She stops near the far end of the hall to answer a phone
call. At 4:04, she approaches your door. The glass breaks seconds later.”
Eleanor frowned. “That sounds right.” Naomi nodded. “There’s another detail.” Daniel
braced himself. “Rebecca steps into the hall at 3:58.” “Why?” “She looks toward both
ends of the corridor. Then she goes back inside.” Eleanor’s eyes hardened. “She
checked whether anyone was coming.”
Naomi did not confirm it. She did not need to. Daniel turned toward the window.
Below them, traffic moved slowly in the rain. He imagined Rebecca checking the
hallway. Listening. Returning to Lily. He felt physically sick.
His phone had accumulated twenty-three missed calls and messages since midnight.
Coworkers. His sister. Two neighbors. Martin. An attorney his company kept on
retainer. And Rebecca. Seven messages from Rebecca. He had not opened them. Naomi
noticed the notifications. “Has she contacted you?” “Yes.” “Don’t delete anything.”
“I haven’t answered.” “That’s wise.” Daniel hesitated. “Can I read them?” “They’re
your messages.” He opened the first. Daniel, this is all being twisted. The second:
I made a terrible mistake throwing the glass. I admit that. But I NEVER wanted Lily
hurt. The third:
Your mother-in-law has hated me from the beginning. The fourth: The balcony rail was
already loose. Daniel’s thumb stopped. He looked at Naomi. “She says the rail was
already loose.” Naomi’s gaze sharpened. “When was that message sent?” “11:42 last
night.”
“Before police publicly discussed the loose panel.” Daniel stared at the screen.
Eleanor turned slowly. Naomi stood. “Send me a screenshot and preserve the
original.” Daniel did. The fifth message was longer.
Please remember who I have been to you. Remember our wedding. Remember the nights I
stayed up with Lily when she was sick. One moment cannot erase three years. The
sixth: I’m scared. The seventh: Please don’t let Eleanor take my family.
Daniel read the last sentence three times. Not Lily. Not your daughter. My family.
Possession disguised as love. He put the phone down. At 8:30, a child protective
investigator named Maya Chen arrived. She explained that, because Lily’s mother was
deceased and Daniel remained a legal parent without allegations against him, the
immediate question was not whether he would lose custody.
The question was whether he could create a safe environment completely separated
from Rebecca. “I can,” Daniel said. Maya watched him carefully. “Where will you
live?” “Eleanor’s house, if she’ll have us.” Eleanor answered immediately. “Yes.”
“Will Rebecca have access?” “No,” Eleanor said. Daniel looked at her.
“No,” he repeated. “Will you permit any unsupervised contact between Rebecca and
Lily?” “No.” “Will you share your location if necessary with the court?” “Yes.”
“Will you comply with a temporary protective order if one is issued?” “Yes.” Maya
nodded.
Then she asked the question Daniel had been avoiding. “Are you prepared to choose
your daughter’s safety even if your wife denies wrongdoing?” Daniel did not need
time. “Yes.” The certainty surprised even him. Not because he had stopped loving
Rebecca in a single night.
Human emotion did not work that cleanly. But love was no longer the relevant
standard. Safety was. Maya seemed satisfied. By late morning, Lily was discharged.
Daniel carried her out of the hospital while Eleanor walked beside them with the
child’s small overnight bag. Rain had stopped.
The air smelled washed clean. News vans waited across the street. Daniel stopped.
“How did they know?” Eleanor’s face tightened. Maya stepped in front of them. “Use
the private exit.” They turned back.
Ten minutes later, they left through a service corridor and entered Eleanor’s old
blue SUV in an underground garage. Lily sat in a newly purchased child seat. Daniel
rode beside her in the back. For the first mile, she said nothing. Then she looked
out the window. “Daddy?”
“Yes?” “Is Becky mad?” His chest tightened. “No.” He did not know whether that was
true, so he corrected himself. “You don’t need to worry about whether she’s mad.”
Lily looked at him. “You didn’t do anything wrong.” Her eyes stayed on his. Daniel
continued.
“What happened was not because you were bad. You never have to make a grown-up happy
by being scared.” Eleanor gripped the steering wheel. Her eyes filled. Lily
considered the words. Then she asked, “Can I have pancakes at Grandma’s?” Daniel
laughed and cried at the same time.
“Yes.” Eleanor wiped one cheek with the back of her hand. “Chocolate-chip pancakes.”
For ten minutes, the car felt almost normal. Then Daniel’s phone rang. Naomi. He
answered on speaker. “We executed the warrant at the apartment,” she said. Daniel’s
body went rigid. “What did you find?”
“A screwdriver consistent with the tool marks. It was wiped clean.” Eleanor’s hands
tightened on the wheel. Naomi continued. “We also found the old nursery camera in
Lily’s room.” Daniel remembered the cable. “Was it working?” “Yes.” His stomach
dropped. “Did it record?” “Yes.” There was a pause.
“We recovered clips from the last six weeks.” Daniel looked at Lily. She was
watching buildings pass the window. “Naomi.” Her voice softened. “You should not
watch them with Lily present.” The meaning struck like a physical blow. Eleanor took
the next exit. Daniel lowered his voice.
“What is on them?” Naomi answered carefully. “Nothing showing severe physical
injury. But there are repeated incidents of intimidation, isolation, aggressive
grabbing, and Rebecca telling Lily not to tell you what happened while you were
away.” Daniel shut his eyes. Six weeks. Not one terrible afternoon. A pattern.
Naomi was still speaking. “And there is something else.” Daniel forced himself to
listen. “One clip was recorded three nights ago. Rebecca is in Lily’s room. She
believes the child is asleep.” “What does she do?” “She makes a phone call.” Daniel
felt dread settle over him.
“To who?” “We don’t know yet.” “What did she say?” Naomi paused. Then she quoted
only the sentence that mattered. “She said, ‘Once Daniel believes this apartment is
unsafe, everything gets easier.’” The car seemed to lose sound. Daniel opened his
eyes.
Eleanor looked at him in the rearview mirror. Neither needed to ask what
“everything” meant. Because Daniel had spent months refusing Rebecca’s demand that
they leave Chicago and move hundreds of miles away from Eleanor. For the first time,
the danger around Lily no longer looked like uncontrolled anger. It looked like a
May you like
plan.
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