Chapter 2 - The Smile at the Door.
Nathan carried Isabella inside without asking Camille's permission to explain anything.
He lifted his daughter into his arms even though she was old enough to walk, because her knees had begun shaking the moment Camille stepped closer.
Camille followed them through the foyer with measured footsteps.
The chandelier glittered above them, bright and expensive and absurdly beautiful against the fear on Isabella's face.
"Nathan, you're making this worse," Camille said.
He did not answer.
He carried Isabella into the library and shut the double doors behind them.
Camille's hand stopped the door before it closed.
"Excuse me?"
Nathan looked at her fingers on the wood.
"Give us ten minutes."
"She needs to learn that she cannot divide adults against each other."
Nathan's voice remained quiet.
"Move your hand."
Camille studied him for several seconds before letting go.
The doors closed.
Nathan locked them.
Isabella watched the lock turn and immediately began crying harder.
Nathan crouched in front of her.
"Did she lock you somewhere?"
Isabella covered her mouth with both hands.
He waited.
He remembered every parenting book that had warned him not to lead a frightened child, not to fill silence with guesses, and not to turn fear into an interrogation.
So he sat on the carpet beside her and said nothing.
After nearly a minute, Isabella lowered her hands.
"The pantry."
Nathan felt his stomach tighten.
"How long?"
"I don't know."
"Was the light on?"
She shook her head.
"She said I had to stop crying before I could come out."
Nathan closed his eyes for one second.
Outside the library, Camille knocked once.
"Nathan, I have proof."
He opened the door but did not let her enter.
Camille held out her phone.
On the screen were photographs of a broken perfume bottle, a scratched car door, and cash scattered across a bedroom floor.
"She did all of this," Camille said.
Nathan looked at the images.
"When?"
"Yesterday."
"What time?"
Camille blinked.
"Why does that matter?"
"Because you said you took her to piano at four."
"I did."
Nathan enlarged the photograph of the damaged car.
Sunlight poured across the driveway in the image.
The dashboard clock visible through the windshield read 4:17.
Camille glanced at the screen.
"The clock is wrong."
Nathan looked at her.
The answer came too quickly.
Camille's face softened into injured disbelief.
"You think I'm lying because she cried on command?"
Behind Nathan, Isabella whispered, "I don't cry on command."
Camille ignored her.
"I have been here taking care of your daughter while you travel, and now you come home and treat me like some criminal."
Nathan felt the old reflex to apologize begin to rise.
Camille had always been good at that.
She could turn every question into an accusation against the person asking it.
Then he saw Isabella's reflection in the glass cabinet.
His daughter was staring at Camille's phone with pure panic.
"What is it?" Nathan asked.
Isabella pointed.
"That picture."
Camille pulled the phone slightly back.
Nathan took it from her hand.
"Which picture?"
Isabella pointed to the scattered cash.
"That's not her room."
Camille went still.
Nathan enlarged the image.
The edge of a blue velvet bench appeared in the corner.
There was only one blue velvet bench in the house.
It sat in Camille's dressing room.
Nathan looked at his wife.
"You said Isabella stole money from your bedroom."
Camille lifted her chin.
"She did."
"Then why did you photograph the money after putting it back on your floor?"
The silence became heavy.
Camille reached for the phone.
Nathan stepped back.
Her expression did not become frightened.
It became annoyed.
"You're going to regret humiliating me over this."
Nathan almost answered.
Then Isabella spoke from behind him.
"Dad, there are cameras she doesn't know about."
May you like
Camille's face changed.
And Nathan knew they had just found the first crack in her story.
