Chapter 1: The Monster in the Foyer

I pulled Chloe’s shirt down, my hands shaking so violently I could barely smooth the cotton fabric. I looked her in the eye, burying my murderous rage under a mask of calm.

"Pack your backpack, Chloe," I kept my voice steady, though my heart was hammering against my ribs. "Put your favorite books in it. Your tablet. We aren't going to the recital."

"Where are we going?" she whispered, her eyes darting toward the bedroom door.

"Somewhere safe. I'll be right back."

I stepped out of her room and walked down the hallway. Every step felt like I was moving underwater. As I reached the top of the stairs, I heard the jovial sound of laughter echoing from the living room.

It was him. Richard. Meredith’s father.

He was standing in the foyer, wearing his tailored Sunday suit, holding a bouquet of yellow tulips for his granddaughter’s big day. He looked like the picture-perfect patriarch. But knowing what was etched into my daughter’s skin, his grandfatherly smile made me physically sick.

"There's the proud dad!" Richard boomed as I descended the stairs. "Where's our little Mozart?"

I gripped the banister to keep myself from launching at his throat. I forced my jaw to unhinge.

"There's a change of plans," I said, my voice deadpan. "Chloe is violently ill. She’s throwing up. I’m taking her to the urgent care clinic down the street."

Meredith appeared from the kitchen, her face falling. "What? She was fine twenty minutes ago! Let me go up and check on her—"

"No," I stepped in front of the stairs, blocking her path. I shot Meredith a look so intense it froze her in her tracks. "It's a stomach bug. I don't want you catching it. I’ve got her."

Richard frowned, stepping forward. "Nonsense, Harrison. Let me see my granddaughter."

He reached for the handrail.

"Take your hand off my stairs, Richard," I said. It wasn't a request. The temperature in the room plummeted.

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Richard blinked, taken aback by the venom in my tone. Before he could argue, Chloe came down the stairs behind me, clutching her pink backpack tightly to her chest. She kept her eyes glued to the floor, actively shrinking away from the man with the tulips.

I scooped her up in one arm, grabbed my car keys with the other, and walked straight out the front door without another word.