Chapter 1 - Daddy, I Know a Secret!

"Daddy, the man in our backyard said the baby isn't yours."

My eight-year-old daughter said it with a pink balloon tucked under her shirt, standing three feet from my pregnant wife.

One second, I was laughing. The next, my wife dropped her glass.

It hit the hardwood and burst. Ice skittered beneath the coffee table. Claire didn't move. She stared at our daughter, Ruby, as if the little girl had just opened a grave in the middle of our living room.

"What man?" I asked.

Ruby's freckles scrunched. "The one with the blue truck. He said not to tell Mommy. But I don't like him."

I stood so fast the chair scraped the floor. Outside our tall windows, the backyard lay bright and peaceful: cedar fence, swing set, a lemon tree Claire had insisted we plant even though it had no business growing in this part of Virginia.

"When did you see him?"

"Yesterday. And today. He came to the fence when Mommy was sleeping." Ruby patted her pretend belly. "He told me a secret about the real baby."

"Ruby." Claire's voice was barely there. "Come sit with me."

Our daughter took one step toward her, then stopped. "He said if Daddy calls the police, somebody gets hurt."

The room seemed to tilt. I crossed to the back door and turned the dead bolt. The sliding panel was locked. The small black latch on the adjacent window was not.

I had checked every lock before leaving for work.

"Evan," Claire whispered, "please don't scare her."

I looked over my shoulder. Claire had gone white. One hand was pressed to her seven-month belly, the other clenched around the sofa cushion.

"You've seen this man?" I asked.

She didn't answer.

A low engine rolled to life beyond the fence.

Ruby pointed through the window. "Daddy, that's him."

I caught a flash of blue between the trees. A pickup truck pulled away down the service lane. Its rear license plate was covered in mud, but I saw the white sticker on the back glass: a small silver star.

I ran for the front door. Claire called my name, sharp with panic.

I was already on the porch when my phone buzzed.

Unknown number. One photograph.

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Ruby standing at our fence twenty minutes earlier.

Under it, five words: YOU SHOULD HAVE LEFT IT BURIED.