Chapter 5 - Unearthing the Past
The threat in Denise’s text message stayed with me for days. It was clear she felt completely
untouchable. She believed that because there were no cameras in our house, her cruelty would
remain a secret forever. But her arrogance was also her weakness. She had forgotten that secrets
have a way of leaving traces, even if they aren't written down in text messages.
I decided to do some investigating of my own. I couldn't sit by and watch my father’s life be
dismantled by a monster.
I remembered that Denise had been married once before, a long time ago, before she moved
to Columbus. She had told my dad that her ex-husband, a man named Thomas Miller, was an
abusive, unstable man who had abandoned her. At the time, my dad had been too polite, and too
enamored, to dig into the details. But now, those details felt incredibly important.
With Grandma Evelyn’s help, I spent hours online searching through public records, old social
media posts, and court registries in Chicago, where Denise had lived previously. It was like trying
to find a needle in an digital haystack, but my persistence paid off. I found a small, archived blog
post from a local Chicago community forum dating back eight years. The author was
complaining about a woman named Denise who had systematically ruined her brother’s life
during a divorce, using false allegations to strip him of his custody rights and his savings.
The brother’s name was Thomas Miller.
Heart pounding, I managed to find an email address associated with the blog author. I sent a
desperate message, explaining who I was, what was happening to my family, and pleading for
any information.
Two days later, my phone rang. The caller ID showed a Chicago area code.
“Hello?” I answered, my voice trembling.
“Is this Chloe?” a deep, tired male voice asked.
“Yes, this is Chloe.”
A long sigh came through the receiver. “My name is Thomas Miller. My sister told me you
emailed her. She said you’re married to Denise... or rather, your father is.”
“Yes,” I said, tears springing to my eyes. “We’re going through a terrible divorce. She’s trying to
take custody of my little sister, Ava, just to force my dad to give her money. She’s accusing my dad
of being abusive, but she’s the one who was cruel to us. She... she poured cold milk over my little
sister’s head just because she spilled some juice.”
There was a long, heavy silence on the other end of the line. When Thomas spoke again, his
voice was thick with emotion.
“She did that to my daughter, too,” he whispered.
My heart stopped. “She has a daughter?”
“Had,” Thomas corrected, his voice cracking. “My daughter, Lily. Denise was her stepmother
for three years. She did the exact same things. The silent treatment, the psychological abuse, the
humiliation. Lily once spilled spaghetti sauce on the carpet, and Denise made her sit on the floor
and eat her dinner off the rug like a dog. When I tried to fight her in court, she painted me as an
abusive monster. She had friends lie for her, she fabricated evidence, and she took everything I
had. I lost custody of Lily for two years before I could finally prove the truth. By then, the damage
was done. Lily is in therapy to this day.”
“Thomas,” I pleaded, my grip tightening on the phone. “Please. We have a court hearing in ten
days. Will you help us? Will you tell the judge what she did to your family?”
“I want to, Chloe,” Thomas said, his voice filled with a mixture of fear and pain. “I really do.
But Denise is dangerous. She threatened to ruin my life again if I ever spoke about her. But... I
can’t let her do this to another little girl. Let me talk to my lawyer. I’ll see what I can do.”
It was a glimmer of hope, a tiny crack in Denise’s armor. But as the days ticked down to the
May you like
hearing, we didn't hear back from Thomas, and the anxiety in our apartment grew thick enough
to choke on.
