Chương 5
He typed again.
Your name.
A minute passed.
Then two.
No response.
Daniel placed the phone on the table.
Sophia looked up from her toys.
“Daddy?”
He forced his face to soften.
“Yeah?”
“Are you mad?”
The question caught him off guard.
Children noticed things adults worked hard to hide.
“No.”
She studied him.
Not believing him.
Daniel sighed.
“Okay.”
He sat down on the floor beside her.
“I’m worried.”
Sophia nodded as if that made more sense.
“About Mommy?”
Daniel looked at her.
Three years old.
Too young to understand everything.
Old enough to feel everything.
“Yeah,” he said.
“About Mommy.”
Sophia picked up her teddy bear.
“Mommy is sad.”
Daniel felt his throat tighten.
“How do you know?”
“She cries in the bathroom.”
The room became very quiet.
Daniel had known Rachel was struggling.
He had not known Sophia had been watching.
Children always watched.
They collected pieces of adult problems without understanding the shape they formed.
“When did you see that?”
Sophia shrugged.
“Sometimes.”
Daniel looked away.
A memory came back.
Rachel locking the bathroom door six months earlier.
Daniel standing outside asking if she was okay.
Her saying she just needed a minute.
He had believed her.
Maybe because he wanted to.
Maybe because he was afraid of what happened if he did not.
The next morning, Daniel drove Sophia to his mother’s house.
He did not want her around the apartment while he tried to understand what was happening.
His mother opened the door before he knocked.
She looked like she had been waiting.
“Come in.”
Daniel carried Sophia inside.
The smell of cinnamon and coffee filled the house.
It was the same smell from his childhood.
The same kitchen where he had once sat doing homework while his mother worried about bills and his father worked late shifts.
Some things changed.
Some things just became quieter.
Sophia ran toward the living room.
His mother watched her go.
“She looks tired.”
Daniel nodded.
“She is.”
His mother turned back.
“And you?”
“I’m fine.”
She gave him a look.
The same look she had given him when he was sixteen and claimed he was not upset after breaking his arm skateboarding.
Daniel looked away.
“I’m not doing this today.”
“You don’t have to.”
She lowered her voice.
“But you also don’t have to pretend.”
He sat at the kitchen table.
The same table where he had eaten thousands of meals.
“I got a picture.”
His mother sat across from him.
“What kind of picture?”
He showed her.
She studied it.
“Who is that?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did Rachel send this?”
“No.”
“Then who did?”
“That’s what I’m trying to figure out.”
His mother looked concerned.
“Daniel.”
“I know.”
“No, you don’t.”
She pushed the phone back toward him.
“You’re still trying to solve this like it’s a broken appliance.”
Daniel frowned.
“What does that mean?”
“It means you think if you find the missing piece, you can fix the whole thing.”
He looked down.
His mother had always been frustratingly accurate.
“She almost lost control with Sophia.”
“I know.”
“And you’re still protecting her.”
Daniel immediately reacted.
“I’m not.”
His mother did not argue.
She simply waited.
That was worse.
“I’m trying to understand what happened.”
“Understanding someone and protecting yourself from them are different things.”
Daniel rubbed his face.
“I don’t know how to do both.”
His mother softened.
“That’s because you spent a long time believing loving someone meant carrying everything they dropped.”
The sentence stayed with him.
Because he knew it was true.
After leaving his mother’s house, Daniel drove to the apartment alone.
He did not call Rachel.
He did not respond to the unknown number.
He needed facts.
Not emotions.
Not assumptions.
Facts.
The apartment felt colder when he entered.
He walked through the hallway slowly.
The staircase.
The railing.
The spot where Sophia had been standing.
He hated that his mind replayed it.
He hated that he could still feel the impact of hitting the floor.
Near the wall, he noticed something.
A small scratch on the wooden trim beside the stairs.
He had never seen it before.
Daniel crouched down.
It was fresh.
He touched it lightly.
Then he stopped.
Because beside the scratch was something else.
A tiny piece of blue fabric caught between the trim and the carpet.
He pulled it free.
It was not from Sophia’s yellow dress.
Not from his clothes.
Not from Rachel’s dark sweater.
Daniel stood there holding the fabric.
His phone rang.
Rachel.
He almost ignored it.
Then he answered.
“Hello?”
“Daniel.”
Her voice sounded nervous.
“I need to tell you something.”
He looked at the piece of fabric in his hand.
“What?”
“I wasn’t alone three nights ago.”
The room seemed to become smaller.
“Who was with you?”
A long silence.
“Rachel.”
“I didn’t know how to tell you.”
Daniel closed his eyes.
“Tell me now.”
She breathed in slowly.
“It was my brother.”
Daniel opened his eyes.
The name meant nothing.
Because Rachel had never mentioned having a brother.
“Your brother?”
“Yes.”
“You don’t have a brother.”
The silence on the other end was immediate.
Daniel felt his stomach tighten.
“What did you just say?”
Rachel’s voice became quiet.
“I do.”
He looked toward the hallway window.
Outside, people walked below carrying groceries, talking, living normal lives.
“I asked you about your family.”
“I know.”
“You said you were an only child.”
“I lied.”
Daniel gripped the phone.
“Why?”
“Because I was ashamed.”
The answer was not what he expected.
“What does that mean?”
Rachel swallowed.
“My brother’s name is Ethan.”
Daniel waited.
“He has struggled with addiction for years.”
Daniel looked at the blue fabric in his hand.
“Was he in the apartment?”
“No.”
“Was he near Sophia?”
“No.”
Her answer came quickly.
Too quickly.
Daniel noticed.
“Rachel.”
“I swear.”
He did not respond.
Because he wanted to believe her.
But wanting and knowing were no longer the same thing.
“Why was he there?”
May you like
Rachel’s voice dropped.
“Because he called me.”
