Chapter 1 - The Dirty Plate
The first thing I saw was my five-year-old daughter trying not to cry.
The second was the plate.
A dry pizza crust sat in the middle of it beside streaks of cold grease and a bite mark that did not belong to her.
Lily held the crust with both hands.
My stepmother, Karen, stood over her with her arms crossed.
“Eat it all.”
Lily flinched at Karen’s voice.
“What are you doing?”
Karen turned.
Then the smile came back.
I walked to Lily and took the plate from her shaking hands.
Someone else’s dinner.
Cold.
Old.
Trash, basically.
Behind Karen, her two teenagers had fresh slices on clean plates.
Lily had leftovers.
“Dad,” Lily whispered.
I crouched.
Karen rolled her eyes.
“She asked for pizza.”
“This?”
“She picked it.”
I stood.
“You put this in front of her?”
Karen’s jaw tightened.
But then I noticed the small black lens above the pantry.
The nanny cam.
Installed two weeks earlier after Lily said things in the house “felt mean” when I was gone.
Karen had laughed when I installed it.
Called me paranoid.
I pulled out my phone.
Karen watched me tap the security app.
“What are you doing?”
Her face changed.
“Because the nanny cam just sent the full video to my father’s phone.”
Karen went pale.
My father, Richard, was her husband.
The homeowner.
The man who had spent the last six months telling me Karen “just had a strong personality.”
My phone buzzed.
Dad calling.
Karen lunged toward it.
May you like
“Don’t answer.”
That was when I knew the pizza crust was not the worst thing on the video.
