Chapter 4
Ethan’s house was big, cold, and quiet.
Too quiet.
It was the kind of house that looked like it belonged in a magazine—all white walls, expensive furniture, no personal touches, no warmth. Victoria had decorated it, of course, picking out every piece to impress her friends, not to feel like home.
Lila woke up when we carried her inside, her eyes wide and wary, taking in the high ceilings and the shiny floors like she was scared to touch anything.
Ethan knelt down in front of her, his voice soft. “This is your house now, Lila. Anything you want, anything you need, you just tell me, okay?”
Lila nodded, but she didn’t say anything. She kept her arms wrapped tight around her chest, her shoulders hunched, like she was waiting for someone to yell at her, to hit her, to throw her out.
That first night was the hardest.
We made her pasta for dinner, but she only picked at it, her eyes darting to the door every two seconds like she expected Victoria to burst in and drag her away.
When it was time for bed, Ethan showed her the guest room—big, with a queen-sized bed, fluffy white sheets, a window overlooking the backyard.
But Lila shook her head, her lip trembling.
“Too big,” she whispered. “Scary.”
So Ethan grabbed a pile of blankets and a pillow from the linen closet, and made a bed for her on the floor of his bedroom, right next to his bed.
She crawled under the blankets immediately, curling into a tiny ball, her back to the wall.
I slept on the couch that night, but I woke up at 3 a.m. to the sound of soft sobs coming from down the hall.
I tiptoed to Ethan’s room and peeked in.
The light was on. Ethan was sitting on the floor next to Lila’s bed, holding her in his arms, rocking her back and forth, his shirt soaked with her tears.
“Mama,” she whimpered, over and over, her face buried in his chest. “I want Mama.”
Ethan’s face was wet with tears too, but his voice was steady, soft, like he’d been doing this his whole life.
“I know, baby,” he whispered, kissing the top of her matted hair. “I know. I miss her too. She’s watching over you, Lila. She’s always with you.”
He started to sing, his voice low and rough, a lullaby I hadn’t heard since we were kids—the one our grandma used to sing to us when we had nightmares.
Lila’s sobs slowed.
She looked up at him, her eyes big and wet, and whispered, “Mama used to sing that.”
Ethan froze, then held her tighter, like he never wanted to let go.
The next day, we took Lila shopping.
We bought her new clothes, soft pajamas with unicorns on them, a sparkly backpack, a bed of her own—small, pink, with a canopy over the top, just like she said she’d always wanted. We bought her stuffed animals, crayons, coloring books, a doll with brown hair just like hers.
She stared at the pile of bags in the back of the truck, her eyes wide, like she couldn’t believe any of it was real.
“All for me?” she whispered, when we carried everything inside.
“All for you,” Ethan said, smiling, and for the first time since the wedding, it reached his eyes.
That night, Lila slept in her new bed, in her new room, with the door cracked open.
I stood outside her door for a long time, listening to her soft, even breathing, and smiled.
It was a start.
May you like
But I knew Victoria was out there, plotting, waiting for her chance to strike.
And I knew, sooner or later, she’d make her move.
