Mike stepped forward, anger controlled not theatrical.
— Say that again about my daughter and you won’t be staying in this house.
Eleanor fell silent. She gave him a look that was all hostility under a thin mask of politeness.
He went upstairs to check on Mary’s room, but it was empty. A suitcase was gone. She had left in a hurry. Mike searched the house; Mary had vanished.
Only Lily remained, sitting by the pond in the backyard tracing three small figures in the snow: a man, a woman with a child and another woman.
— What’s that? — Mike asked, kneeling beside her.
She shook her head and stared off toward the trees.
His phone rang. An unknown number.
— Hello? — he answered.
— It’s Mary, — a soft, urgent voice said. — I’m sorry I left. I couldn’t stay. Eleanor is dangerous. Protect Lily.
— Wait — what are you hiding? Who are you? — he demanded.
The line went dead.
Mike stood with his phone in his hand, more lost than he had been in years. Snow began to fall harder. Lily looked small against the white. Mike realized he was about to learn a truth he might not like. But walking away would be betraying a child.
He didn’t sleep that night. He replayed the nurse’s words and Mary’s call. By morning he decided the only lead was Mary. He drove to the neighborhood where she’d rented a room. Her apartment was empty; neighbors said she’d packed up and left overnight.
Back at the house, Eleanor sat at breakfast, pretending calm.
— I admire your persistence, Mike, — she said, stirring her tea. — Why keep digging?
