Chapter 2 - Behind the Pantry Door
Camille did not move.
Marcus extended his hand.
“The key.”
“Not in front of Maya.”
“That lock was apparently put there because of Maya. She stays.”
Camille glanced toward the dining room.
Maya had climbed down from her chair but remained beside it, arms pressed against her stomach.
Marcus had never seen his daughter look so small.
Camille finally pulled the chain over her head.
“You’re going to make this into something it isn’t.”
Marcus took the key.
“Then opening the door should solve that.”
He crossed the kitchen.
The padlock clicked open.
Inside, at first, nothing looked extraordinary.
Shelves of cereal, crackers, pasta, canned soup, baking ingredients, snack bars, cookies.
Then Marcus noticed the labels.
Green stickers were attached to several shelves.
CAMILLE
Another shelf had blue stickers.
MARCUS
The lowest shelf had one small plastic basket.
A white paper label was taped to it.
MAYA — ASK FIRST
Inside were six applesauce cups, half a sleeve of crackers, two granola bars, and instant oatmeal.
Marcus stared.
Behind him, Camille spoke quickly.
“She was sneaking food.”
“How long has this been here?”
“A couple months.”
Marcus looked at Maya.
“Is that true? Were you sneaking food?”
Maya’s face turned crimson.
“I was hungry.”
Camille sighed.
“See? She admitted it.”
Marcus turned slowly.
“Admitted what?”
“She wakes up at night and eats junk. She wastes food. I was trying to teach her boundaries.”
Maya shook her head.
“I ate crackers.”
“At midnight.”
“Because you didn’t give me dinner.”
Camille’s mouth tightened.
“That happened once because she refused to finish her chores.”
Maya looked at her father.
“No.”
Marcus crouched.
“How many times?”
Maya hesitated.
Then she held up both hands.
Marcus felt cold spread through his chest.
“More than ten?”
Maya nodded.
Camille scoffed.
“Marcus, she’s eight. She doesn’t know dates.”
Maya suddenly ran from the kitchen.
Marcus started after her.
“Maya?”
“Let her calm down,” Camille said.
Marcus ignored her.
He found Maya in her bedroom kneeling beside her bed.
She pulled out a pink plastic pencil box.
Inside were folded slips of paper.
Marcus recognized her handwriting.
Large uneven letters.
Dates.
Foods.
Short notes.
June 4 — cereal, apple, no dinner
June 7 — toast, carrots
June 18 — ate granola in bathroom
July 2 — she said Dad buys too much for me
Marcus stopped breathing for a moment.
“Why did you write these?”
Maya wiped her face.
“Mom used to tell me writing things down helps when I’m scared I’ll forget.”
Marcus’s late first wife, Elena, had died four years earlier after a short illness.
Maya had been four.
Marcus had almost forgotten that Elena used to keep notebooks everywhere.
Grocery lists.
Birthday ideas.
Things Maya said.
Things she never wanted to forget.
Maya had inherited the habit.
Marcus unfolded another slip.
July 17 — Camille said if I tell Dad, he will think I am lying because she is the grown-up.
His hand began shaking.
Maya watched him.
“Are you mad?”
“Yes.”
Her face collapsed.
Marcus immediately realized she thought he meant her.
“Not at you.”
She whispered, “You believe me?”
The question hurt more than anything Camille had said.
Marcus sat on the carpet beside his daughter.
“Yes.”
He wanted to tell her he would always believe her.
But honesty stopped him.
Because if that were true, she would never have needed those notes.
A knock sounded at the bedroom door.
Camille stood there.
Her arms were crossed.
“You’re encouraging this.”
Marcus rose.
“I’m listening.”
“You’re letting an eight-year-old manipulate you.”
Marcus walked toward the door.
“Where were you when she wrote July seventeenth?”
Camille’s eyes flickered.
“What?”
He held up the paper.
“You told her I would think she was lying.”
“I never said that.”
Marcus studied her.
Camille had always been an excellent liar when the lie was small.
A forgotten bill.
A dent in the car.
Why she had been late.
But Marcus suddenly realized something terrifying.
He had never needed to know whether she could lie about something big.
“Get your phone,” he said.
“Why?”
“I want the security-camera history.”
Camille’s expression changed.
Their house had six cameras.
Three outside.
One in the kitchen.
One in the upstairs hallway.
One in the family room.
Marcus used them mostly when traveling, checking deliveries or watching Maya leave for school.
He opened the security app on his own phone.
The kitchen camera displayed OFFLINE.
He frowned.
The history showed something stranger.
On every trip Marcus had taken during the previous four months, the indoor cameras had gone offline within hours of his departure.
They returned online shortly before he came home.
Marcus looked up.
“You told me the Wi-Fi was unstable.”
“It is.”
“Only when I travel?”
Camille said nothing.
Marcus scrolled deeper into the settings.
Someone had not disconnected the cameras.
Someone had manually disabled recording.
The account logged every administrative change.
Marcus tapped USER ACTIVITY.
The screen displayed the name of the person who had turned them off.
Again.
Again.
May you like
Again.
Camille Reed.
