Chapter 4

I needed to be sure. I needed undeniable proof. Before I left their house, I went to use the bathroom again. On my way, I "accidentally" dropped my purse, spilling its contents across the hallway floor, right outside the locked guest room door.

"Oh, clumsy me," I said with a light laugh.

As I bent to pick up my lipstick and wallet, my fingers brushed against the bottom of the door. Just as I suspected, there was a small gap. I quickly slid my phone under it, angled it up, and snapped a few blind pictures. I scooped up my things and my phone, my heart pounding, and left a few minutes later with a smile and a hug for my mother.

The drive home was a blur. I didn't look at the photos until I was safely locked in my own house. I sat on my couch and opened my gallery. The first few pictures were just blurry shots of the door's interior. But the last one was clear. It showed the corner of a baby blue crib and a mobile with little smiling stars hanging over it.

The proof was absolute. The betrayal was real.

The next two weeks were strangely quiet. My parents didn't call to ask about the investment account. It was a deceptive calm, a false sense of security designed to make me lower my guard before they struck again. I used the time to prepare. I called the insurance company and personally renewed my premium plan, the most comprehensive one they offered. I paid for the entire year upfront. I felt a grim sense of satisfaction as the confirmation email landed in my inbox. One life saved.

Then, I started moving my money. I opened a new bank account at a different bank, one my parents knew nothing about. I began transferring the bulk of my savings, leaving only a small, believable amount in the account they knew I had.

One evening, my phone rang. It was my mother.

"Chloe, honey?" Her voice was tight, strained. "Are you busy?"

"Just working, Mom. What's up?"

"Your father and I drove into the city today," she said. "We were thinking of stopping by your office to take you to dinner."

A cold alarm bell went off in my head. They never came into the city without a reason. "Oh, I'm sorry, Mom. I'm swamped. I'm going to be here all night."

In the background, I heard it. A faint, but unmistakable sound. A baby crying. It was a short, sharp wail, quickly shushed.

My mother's voice became hurried. "Oh, well, that's just the television, honey. Some show is on. Anyway, we were also hoping to pick up the key to your apartment."

"The key? Why?"

"Well, with the renovation, our house is just so dusty. We thought maybe we could stay with you for a few nights. We wouldn't be any trouble."

They weren't at home. They were in the city, with Liam, and they needed a place to stay. They were probably living in a cheap motel. The renovation was a lie to get money, and now they were homeless.

"I don't have a spare key, Mom," I lied.

"Don't be silly," she snapped, her voice losing its sweet edge. "You always keep a spare in the little magnetic box under the stairwell in your lobby. Your father will just run in and grab it."

My blood ran cold. They knew about my hiding spot. I had told her that years ago, in case of an emergency. Now they were using it against me.

"That's not there anymore, Mom. I moved it," I said quickly. "The building management said it was a security risk."

There was a frustrated sigh on her end. "Chloe, this is very inconvenient. We're already here."

"I'm sorry. I can't leave work," I said, my voice firm. "I'll call you tomorrow."

I hung up before she could argue. My hands were shaking. They were close. I immediately sent another text to David: 'Parents are trying to crash here. I told them no. Can you make sure you lock the deadbolt when you get home?'

A few minutes later, another text came from my mother. 'We are outside your building. Let us in.'

I didn't answer.

Another text. 'Chloe, answer your phone.'

Then another. 'This is ridiculous. Your father is very upset.'

I watched the messages pop up on my screen, one after another, a wave of desperate, angry demands. They were locked out, not just from my apartment, but from my life. And they were just starting to realize it. The feeling wasn't triumph, not yet. It was the cold, hard reality of being utterly alone against the people who were supposed to love me most.