Chapter 9 - Lila’s Drawing
I did not tell Celeste immediately.
I wanted one night where my life did not gain a new relative.
Instead, Lila drew a picture.
Children are rude that way.
They make truth simple.
She sat at the kitchen table with crayons while I spoke to a victim advocate on the phone.
When I finished, she held up the page.
Five stick men.
One woman.
One little girl.
A giant yellow house.
Grant stood outside the house.
Vivian was drawn behind a black square.
“What’s that?”
“A door.”
“Why is Grandma behind it?”
“She locks people.”
My stomach tightened.
“Did Grandma ever lock you somewhere?”
Lila shook her head.
“No. She told Emma to lock me in the playroom when you were sick.”
I went still.
“Grandma told Emma?”
“Yes.”
“Are you sure?”
“She said, ‘Keep her upstairs until Grant finishes.’”
My pulse slowed.
“When did she say that?”
“Before cake.”
Before Grant dragged me downstairs.
The plan had begun earlier than Celeste admitted.
“Did you hear anything else?”
Lila colored my dress purple.
“Grandma said Daddy had to get your name on paper before Uncle Nathan came.”
I stopped breathing.
“Before Uncle Nathan came?”
She nodded casually.
“She was on the phone.”
“Who was she talking to?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did she say Nathan?”
“Yeah.”
That meant Vivian knew the panic bracelet might be used.
Or knew Nathan was already watching.
I called Gabriel.
“Can you retrieve phone records from Vivian’s provider lawfully?”
“With subpoena, yes.”
“Tell Elias.”
“I will.”
Then I looked at Lila’s drawing again.
One figure stood beside me.
Green dress.
Celeste.
“You drew Miss Celeste with us.”
Lila shrugged.
“She said sorry.”
“When?”
“When Daddy took you downstairs. She came back up and told me not to worry.”
That contradicted Celeste’s statement.
She had said she remained in the cellar until after the violence began.
“Did she leave?”
“Just for a minute.”
“What did she do?”
“Gave me this.”
Lila ran to her backpack and pulled out a silver button.
Not a button.
A tiny microSD card in a decorative holder.
My heart hammered.
“Why did she give you that?”
“She said keep it where Grandma doesn’t look.”
I called Elias.
Then Celeste.
She answered.
I did not greet her.
“You gave Lila a memory card.”
Silence.
“Yes.”
“You lied to police.”
“I omitted something.”
“You left the cellar.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“To copy Vivian’s phone.”
I stood.
“What?”
“She left it on the upstairs bar. I knew the passcode.”
“Why?”
“Because I stopped trusting her three months ago.”
“Then why stay in the plan?”
Her voice broke.
“Because I was trying to find out what she knew about my mother.”
There it was.
Celeste had her own investigation.
Ugly.
Compromised.
But real.
She explained.
Vivian had approached her two years ago and encouraged her relationship with Grant.
At first Celeste believed Vivian simply wanted me gone.
Then Vivian began asking questions about Rebecca.
Birth date.
Old addresses.
Hospital records.
Celeste grew suspicious.
Three months ago, she found the old Moretti deed reference in Vivian’s desk.
Rebecca Vale.
Lawful issue.
Her own name nowhere.
She wanted to know why.
“So you slept with my husband to investigate his mother?”
“No.”
At least she had the decency not to use that excuse.
“I slept with Grant because I wanted him. Then I realized Vivian had chosen me before Grant ever did.”
That sentence mattered.
Another person discovering her life had been arranged.
Not the same as my pain.
But adjacent.
“What’s on the card?”
“A copy of Vivian’s texts, notes, and recordings.”
“Why give it to Lila?”
“Because Vivian searched my purse.”
“You used my five-year-old as storage.”
“I know.”
“Do not say sorry. Not yet.”
She went quiet.
I called Elias and turned over the card.
Chain of custody.
No private viewing.
No more family improvisation.
That evening, Grant called from jail through his attorney.
I declined.
Then he sent a letter.
I did not open it.
Lila asked, “Is that from Daddy?”
“Yes.”
“You gonna read it?”
“Maybe later.”
She looked at me.
“Can I?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because grown-up letters can have grown-up problems.”
She considered that.
“Okay.”
Then she went back to drawing.
I watched her for a long time.
This story had too many adults who believed protecting children meant hiding reality.
I refused to become one of them.
“Lila?”
“Yeah?”
“Daddy hurt me. Grandma helped plan something wrong. Miss Celeste made bad choices too.”
She stopped coloring.
“Are they bad people?”
“I don’t know if people fit in one box.”
She frowned.
“That’s annoying.”
I laughed.
“Yes.”
Then she pointed at Nathan’s stick figure.
“Is Uncle Nathan bad?”
I looked at the drawing.
“Uncle Nathan has done things I disagree with.”
“Does he love us?”
“Yes.”
“Can both be true?”
I swallowed.
“Yes.”
She nodded.
“Okay.”
Five years old.
Already better at complexity than the adults who raised me.
An hour later, Elias called.
They had reviewed part of the memory card.
Vivian’s texts confirmed the custody plot.
They also confirmed something else.
Three weeks before Lila’s birthday, Vivian had texted a contact saved only as A.M.
SHE STILL DOESN’T KNOW THE HOUSE WAS MEANT FOR REBECCA’S CHILD.
The reply came thirty seconds later.
GOOD. KEEP IT THAT WAY UNTIL GRANT SIGNS THE LOAN.
I stared at the initials.
A.M.
May you like
Anthony Moretti had been dead eight years.
Someone was using my father’s initials.
