Chapter 8 - My Husband Came Home
My husband was discharged three days after Christmas.
He walked slowly.
Every movement reminded me how close I had come to losing him too.
The doctors had repaired internal injuries caused by a ruptured blood vessel no one had known he had.
Bad luck.
Terrible timing.
But not foul play.
For once, disaster had not been engineered by somebody I loved.
He came directly to Ruby’s hospital room.
The moment Maisie saw him, she ran.
He winced when she hit his chest.
Then he wrapped his arms around her anyway.
“You saved your sister.”
Maisie buried her face against him.
“I tried.”
“You did more than try.”
He looked over her head at me.
His eyes filled.
Ruby was discharged that evening.
We did not go home.
Police were still processing the break-in.
Instead, we stayed with my husband’s sister, Lauren.
Her house was smaller than ours.
Messier too.
There were toys beneath the couch and dishes drying beside the sink.
It felt safer than any perfect house I had ever known.
For two days, Maisie refused to sleep unless Ruby was beside her.
Whenever someone knocked, she froze.
Ruby developed a habit of asking whether doors were locked.
Three years old.
And already checking locks.
I wanted to destroy something every time she asked.
On December twenty-eighth, Detective Morrison came to Lauren’s house.
My father had been arrested.
My mother had also been arrested.
The charges were still developing.
Child endangerment.
Identity fraud.
Financial crimes.
Evidence tampering.
Possibly conspiracy.
Thomas faced charges connected to the burglary.
I listened carefully.
My husband sat beside me.
Then Morrison said something unexpected.
“Your father wants to speak with you.”
“No.”
I answered before she finished.
“He says he has information about your mother.”
“I don’t care.”
“He claims she planned the entire Christmas incident.”
My husband looked at me.
I shook my head.
“He locked the door.”
“I agree.”
“He watched them outside.”
“I agree.”
“He deleted the video.”
“Yes.”
“Then I don’t care who planned it.”
Morrison nodded.
“I thought you might say that.”
She stood to leave.
Then stopped.
“There is one reason you may eventually want to hear what he has to say.”
“What?”
“We found another file in his office.”
She took a photograph from her folder.
The image showed a cardboard storage box.
On the side, written in my mother’s handwriting, were three words.
For Maisie Later.
My husband leaned forward.
“What does that mean?”
Morrison shook her head.
“We don’t know yet.”
Police had not opened everything when she left.
That night, I sat beside Maisie until she fell asleep.
I watched my daughter breathe.
Then my phone buzzed with a message from Morrison.
We opened the box.
Call me when the children are asleep.
I stared at those words for a long time.
May you like
Some instinct told me Christmas night had not been the beginning of my parents’ plan.
It had only been the night they finally got caught.
