Chapter 2: The Notebook Beneath My Pillow
At 9:30 that night, the front door opened.
I heard the familiar sound of my father's suitcase rolling across the marble floor.
"Caroline? I'm home!""
My heart jumped.
Daddy!
I sat up so quickly that my photograph almost slipped from my hands.
I wanted to run downstairs.
I wanted to throw my arms around him and tell him everything.
But Caroline's voice from earlier that week returned to my mind.
"Don't bother your father when he comes home. He works hard enough without having to listen to your little complaints.""
So I stayed where I was.
A few minutes later, I heard footsteps coming up the stairs.
Then someone stopped outside my door.
A gentle knock followed.
"Emma?""
My father's voice.
"Sweetheart, are you awake?""
I scrambled to put the photograph beneath my pillow.
"Yes, Daddy!""
The door opened.
My father stood there wearing his navy business suit, his tie loosened and his briefcase in one hand.
He smiled.
"There's my girl.""
He expected to find my pink bedroom, my little bookshelf, and the familiar stuffed animals arranged along my bed.
Instead, his smile slowly disappeared.
He looked at the mattress.
Then at the empty walls.
Then at the clothes hanging near the window.
"Emma, sweetheart...""
He set down his briefcase.
"What happened to your room?""
I pulled the blanket over my knees.
"It's okay, Daddy.""
He walked farther inside.
"Where are your curtains?""
"Caroline changed them.""
"Where's your bookshelf?""
I looked down.
"I don't need it anymore.""
"Who told you that?""
I didn't answer.
He noticed the old sweater I was wearing.
"Is that Olivia's?""
I nodded.
"Did she give it to you?""
"Caroline gave it to me.""
He looked at the clothes hanging beside the window.
"Are all those hers?""
"And Lucas's.""
My father walked toward the wardrobe.
He opened it.
Three black garbage bags were still sitting on the floor, partly filled with clothes I hadn't managed to wash.
He stared at them.
"Emma, what's this?""
"My new clothes.""
He turned around.
"Your new clothes?""
I nodded, trying to smile.
"They're new to me.""
Something changed in his face.
He pulled a little dress from the bag.
It was pale yellow, with a broken zipper and a dark brown stain near the hem.
"Whose was this?""
"Olivia's.""
"How old is it?""
"I don't know.""
He held it up.
The dress was much too small for me.
He picked up another garment.
A pair of jeans with a torn knee.
Then a sweater with stretched-out sleeves.
Then a little shirt that smelled of damp storage.
His jaw tightened.
"Who told you to wear these?""
"Caroline.""
My father sat on the edge of the mattress.
"Emma, look at me.""
I raised my eyes.
"Why didn't you tell me?""
I thought about the question.
I wanted to tell him that I had tried.
That I had written things down.
That I had asked Caroline for help.
But I didn't know how to explain everything without making him unhappy.
"Caroline said you were busy.""
My father's face went pale.
"She said that?""
I nodded.
"She said I shouldn't bother you because you already had enough problems.""
He looked away for a moment.
Then he reached toward my pillow to straighten it.
The corner of my mother's photograph appeared.
He gently pulled it out.
"You're still keeping this close?""
I nodded.
"Mommy says I should never forget her.""
His eyes became wet.
"Your mother would never want you to forget her.""
He placed the photograph carefully on the mattress.
Then he noticed something underneath the pillow.
A small notebook.
Its cover was pink, with a little white rabbit printed in the corner.
My father picked it up.
"What's this?""
I reached for it.
"Nothing, Daddy.""
He looked at me.
"Can I see?""
I hesitated.
Then I nodded.
He opened the first page.
The handwriting was uneven, with some letters written backward.
At the top, I had written:
*THINGS I WANT TO ASK DADDY WHEN HE COMES HOME.*
My father began reading.
The first entry was dated three months earlier.
Daddy, can I have a new pair of shoes? My toes hurt when I walk.
He turned the page.
Daddy, why does Caroline say I eat too much?
Another page.
Daddy, can you please come to my school? I want you to see my drawing.
He stopped.
I watched his fingers tremble.
He turned another page.
Daddy, Olivia said I don't belong in this house. Is that true?
My father closed his eyes.
"Emma...""
I reached for the notebook.
"I didn't want you to be sad.""
He held it a little tighter.
"Sweetheart, why would this make me sad?""
"Because Caroline says you work hard. She says I make things difficult.""
My father stared at me.
Then he asked a question that made me cry.
"How long have you been feeling this way?""
I couldn't answer.
He opened the notebook again.
On the next page, I had written:
Daddy, can I please have one blue dress for picture day? I don't want to wear Olivia's old clothes because the other children might laugh.
Below it was another sentence.
But if you don't have enough money, that's okay. I can wear what I have.
My father covered his mouth.
For several seconds, he didn't speak.
Then he turned to the last written page.
There was a small drawing of our house.
Three figures stood in front of it.
Caroline.
Olivia.
Lucas.
I had drawn my father beside them.
And myself outside the house, near the garden gate.
Beneath the picture, I had written:
I think Daddy has a new family now.
My father looked at the drawing for a long time.
Then he gently pulled me into his arms.
I began crying.
Not loudly.
I had become accustomed to crying quietly.
But my father held me tightly enough that I couldn't hide it.
"I'm sorry, sweetheart.""
I pressed my face against his shirt.
"I'm sorry I asked for a dress.""
He pulled back.
"What?""
"Caroline said I was ungrateful.""
My father's voice became firm.
"Emma, listen to me. Asking for clean clothes is not being ungrateful. Wanting to look nice for school is not being difficult. And nobody gets to make you feel ashamed for needing things.""
I nodded.
He kissed my forehead.
Then he stood up.
"Stay here for a moment. I'm going to speak with Caroline.""
I immediately grabbed his hand.
"No, Daddy!""
He turned.
"Why?""
"She'll be angry.""
"She won't hurt you.""
I looked at him.
I wanted to believe that.
But I had heard those promises before.
My father crouched down until we were eye to eye.
"I am not going to leave you alone with this anymore. Do you understand?""
I nodded slowly.
He picked up his phone.
Before leaving the room, he photographed the garbage bags, the clothes, and the mattress.
Then he opened the notebook again and photographed every page.
I didn't understand why.
I only knew he looked different.
He no longer looked like the tired man who came home from work and trusted Caroline to explain everything.
He looked like someone who had finally discovered that he had been lied to.
He stepped into the hallway and closed my door gently.
I heard his footsteps descend the stairs.
Then I heard Caroline.
"Richard! Why didn't you tell me you were coming home tonight?""
My father answered calmly.
"I changed my schedule.""
"Oh, you should have called. I would have prepared something special.""
"Where's Emma's dinner?""
A pause.
"What?""
"Her dinner, Caroline. Where is it?""
"Oh, she's probably eaten something upstairs.""
"Probably?""
Caroline laughed nervously.
"Richard, she's a picky eater. You know how children are.""
"Why is she sleeping on an old mattress?""
Silence.
Then Caroline began speaking quickly.
"Oh, that. I was planning to replace her furniture. The room needed reorganizing.""
"Where are her curtains?""
"I changed the decor.""
"Where are her books?""
"She doesn't read them anymore.""
My father didn't respond immediately.
Then he asked:
"Why did you give my daughter three garbage bags full of Olivia's and Lucas's old clothes?""
Caroline's voice changed.
"She told you that?""
"I saw them.""
"Richard, you're misunderstanding.""
"Then explain.""
"Olivia has outgrown those clothes. They were perfectly usable. Emma is a child. She doesn't care about labels.""
My father interrupted her.
"Did you buy Olivia a new dress this month?""
"Of course. She needed something for a school event.""
"And Emma?""
"She has clothes.""
"Those clothes are stained and damaged.""
Caroline sighed.
"Richard, I cannot spend every minute making sure Emma gets everything she wants. She's becoming spoiled.""
I heard a chair scrape across the floor.
Then my father's voice became quieter.
"Do not call my daughter spoiled for asking for a clean dress.""
Caroline went silent.
I crept toward the bedroom door.
Through the narrow opening, I could see part of the staircase.
My father was standing near the dining table.
Caroline had her arms crossed.
"You're making a huge issue out of nothing," she said.
"Am I?""
"Yes. You come home unexpectedly, see a few old clothes, and suddenly I'm a terrible stepmother?""
My father looked at her.
"I haven't said what you are yet.""
Caroline's expression hardened.
"Richard, think carefully. I've sacrificed so much to make this marriage work.""
He took out his phone.
"Then perhaps you'll have no problem explaining the household expenses.""
"What does that mean?""
"It means I want to see exactly where the money I send for Emma goes.""
Caroline's face changed.
For the first time, she looked genuinely frightened.
But she quickly recovered.
"You're accusing me of stealing from a child?""
"I'm asking for records.""
"I don't keep receipts for every little thing.""
"You receive a monthly transfer specifically for her needs.""
Caroline stepped closer.
"How dare you speak to me like this?""
My father didn't move.
"Tomorrow morning, we're going to discuss everything.""
Then he walked away.
But before returning upstairs, he made a phone call.
I heard only a few words.
"James? It's Richard. I need you at the house first thing tomorrow.""
A pause.
"Yes. It's about Emma.""
Another pause.
"No, I don't want to discuss this over the phone. Bring the financial records and the documents from the trust.""
He looked toward the staircase.
His eyes met mine through the gap in the door.
Then he added something I would remember for the rest of my life.
"And James, bring Elizabeth's original estate documents.""
My mother.
May you like
Why was he asking for her documents?
And why did Caroline suddenly look as though she had seen a ghost?
