Chapter 7 - The Sister’s Warning
When I slipped back into the room, Clara was waiting for me. She had closed her book and was sitting upright in her chair, watching the door with intense, hawk-like focus.
"What did Miller want?" she asked quietly as I pulled my chair back up to the bed and sat down.
"She wasn't at the house," I murmured, staring down at my calloused hands. "The police searched it, but it was empty. She’s running, or she’s hiding with one of her socialite friends."
Clara let out a sharp, cynical breath. "Of course she is. Women like Vanessa don't get where they are by facing consequences. They manipulate, they charm, and when things fall apart, they play the victim and run."
She leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees, and looked at me with a fierce, burning intensity that reminded me so much of our mother.
"Mark, we need to talk about what happens after she leaves this hospital," Clara said, her voice dropping to a serious undertone. "You cannot seriously be planning to take Lily back to that house."
I blinked, caught off guard by the direction of her words. "What? Why wouldn't I? It's our home. We’ll change the locks, install security cameras, get a whole new alarm system—"
"No, Mark. Listen to yourself," Clara interrupted, shaking her head sharply. "That house is poisoned. Every single room, every piece of furniture, every hallway—it’s soaked in the memory of what happened to that little girl. You think changing the locks is going to make Lily forget that she spent twelve hours screaming in a dark cellar while her father was downstairs drinking coffee?"
The words hit me like a physical blow. I looked over at Lily. She was sleeping soundly, but her hand twitched slightly, as if she were reliving a nightmare in her dreams.
"Clara, I can't just abandon my job and sell my house overnight," I argued, though my heart wasn't in it. "My whole life is established here. My career—"
"Your career is what got you into this mess!" Clara snapped, though she immediately softened her tone when Lily stirred slightly at the sound. She took a deep breath, lowering her voice to a fierce whisper. "Mark, look at me. Your daughter almost died. Not because of a sudden illness, not because of an accident, but because you traded your presence for a paycheck and left her at the mercy of a psychopath. If you take her back to that house, the trauma is going to eat her alive. She won't sleep. She won't eat. Every time a door closes too hard, her soul is going to shatter all over again."
I sat there in the dim light, the silence of the hospital room pressing down on my chest. She was right. Every instinct I had as a father screamed that she was right, even if my pride and my fear of disruption fought against it.
"Pack up whatever matters," Clara continued gently, reaching across the space between our chairs to touch my arm. "Bring Lily to stay with me in my place across town for as long as it takes. My house has a big yard, a spare bedroom we can paint however she wants, and most importantly... there are no dark basements, no locked doors, and no memories of Vanessa."
"And my job?" I asked hollowly.
"Take a leave of absence," Clara said without hesitation. "FMLA, bereavement leave, mental health leave—call it whatever you have to call it. Your company will survive without you for a month, Mark. Your daughter won't survive another week of you trying to balance spreadsheets while she heals from this."
I closed my eyes, letting out a long, shuddering breath as the last remaining pillars of my old, comfortable life crumbled into dust. She was right. I had been living a lie for two years, pretending that financial success equaled parental protection. The illusion was shattered. It was time to pick up the pieces and build something real.
"Okay," I whispered, opening my eyes and looking at my sister with a new sense of resolve. "We'll stay with you. We won't go back to that house."
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Before Clara could answer, a sharp, metallic sound echoed from just outside the door—the distinct sound of a key sliding into a lock, followed by the heavy click of the doorknob turning.
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