Chapter 3 - His Name at the Bottom
Ethan turned slowly.
Beatriz stood barefoot in the kitchen doorway, damp hair over one shoulder.
He held up the laminated sheet. "You want to explain this?"
She looked at it, then at him. "It's a behavior chart."
"It says you take away dinner."
"I don't starve her. If she refuses dinner because she's acting out, she loses snacks afterward. You know how she twists things."
"It says outside after bedtime."
"The covered porch. For fresh air. Ten minutes, maybe twenty."
"And this?" Ethan tapped the bottom. "My signature."
Beatriz crossed her arms. "You approved consequences before your Denver trip."
"Not this list."
"Maybe you forgot. You've been working sixteen-hour days."
That answer was too smooth.
Ethan took out his phone and photographed the sheet.
Beatriz's face tightened. "Seriously?"
"Very."
"You're turning one bad afternoon into a criminal investigation."
"My daughter is afraid to talk in her own house."
"Your daughter has been angry since Sofia died. She lies. She breaks things. She tells people whatever gets her sympathy. I have been the one here while you fly around playing important architect."
The accusation landed because part of it was true.
Ethan had missed dentist appointments. School assemblies. Two parent conferences. He had convinced himself that earning more money meant protecting Isabella's future.
Beatriz stepped closer. "You left me with a grieving child and then judged every decision from hotel rooms."
"Did you put your hands on her?"
"No."
"Did you make her drag those bags?"
"Yes."
"Did you make her sleep outside?"
A pause.
"No."
Ethan saw it.
Not guilt. Calculation.
He went upstairs and opened his laptop. The home security system showed six cameras: driveway, front door, kitchen, hallway, garage, backyard.
He selected the backyard feed.
No recordings for the past ninety days.
The kitchen was the same.
The hallway too.
"That's strange," he muttered.
He checked administrator activity.
Someone had deleted archived footage every Sunday at 2:00 a.m.
The account name was his.
But Ethan had been in Chicago on every one of those dates.
He changed the password, downloaded the access log, and saw a second device listed beneath his phone.
DEVICE: B-IPHONE.
Last active: thirty-four minutes ago.
Location: inside the house.
Then a floorboard creaked behind him.
Isabella stood in the doorway clutching a stuffed rabbit.
"Dad," she whispered. "She knows you found the rules."
"How?"
May you like
Isabella looked toward the ceiling.
"Because she listens."
