Chapter 8 - THE VISITReena was released on bond.
I learned through a phone call from the prosecutor.
Conditions were strict.
No contact with Drew or Lily.
No contact with me.
No entering my property.
GPS monitoring.
I still changed every lock.
Added cameras.
Installed motion lights.
For three nights, I barely slept.
Drew noticed.
“You scared?”
“A little.”
“Of Mom?”
I decided not to lie.
“Yes.”
He nodded like fear was reasonable.
Then said:
“She doesn’t come when people are watching.”
That sentence stayed with me.
Two weeks passed.
Drew had surgery.
It went well.
Lily gained almost three pounds.
She began asking for seconds without whispering.
We celebrated every pound like a birthday.
Then the court appointed a guardian ad litem named Rebecca Sloan to represent the children’s interests.
She interviewed me.
Doctors.
Teachers.
Neighbors.
Reena.
Trent.
Most importantly, she interviewed Drew.
Afterward, she sat in my kitchen.
“He’s very protective of Lily.”
“I know.”
“He believes it’s his job to absorb punishment before it reaches her.”
I closed my eyes.
“How do I fix that?”
“You don’t fix it with one conversation.”
“So what do I do?”
“You show him, repeatedly, that adults are responsible now.”
That became my mission.
Adults are responsible now.
I wrote it on a sticky note inside a kitchen cabinet.
On hard days, I read it.
Then came the supervised visit request.
Reena wanted to see the children.
My immediate answer was no.
Rebecca reminded me the court would decide.
The prosecution opposed contact.
Reena’s attorney argued that children benefited from parental connection and that allegations were still unproven.
Judge Cross authorized one therapeutic video session.
Video.
Not in person.
With a psychologist present.
Drew didn’t want to do it.
Lily said she missed Mommy.
That broke my heart in a different way.
Children can love people who hurt them.
Love is not evidence of safety.
The psychologist, Dr. Mara Feld, explained the rules.
Reena could say hello.
Ask neutral questions.
No discussing the case.
No blame.
No threats.
No promises about returning home.
The call began at 3:00 p.m.
Reena appeared on screen.
She looked thinner.
Sad.
“Hi, babies.”
Lily immediately started crying.
“Mommy!”
Reena cried too.
For one moment, I hated myself for doubting the emotion.
Then I remembered the basement.
Drew sat stiffly.
“Hi.”
“How is your leg, sweetheart?”
“Okay.”
“I’m so sorry you fell.”
Dr. Feld intervened.
“We’re not discussing injuries.”
Reena nodded.
“Of course.”
Then she smiled.
“Lily, are you eating?”
Lily nodded.
“Lots.”
A flicker crossed Reena’s face.
“So Aunt Sarah lets you have whatever you want?”
Dr. Feld again:
“Reena.”
“Sorry.”
She asked about toys.
School.
Cartoons.
Everything seemed almost normal.
Then Reena held up a stuffed rabbit.
Drew stopped breathing.
It was old.
Brown.
One ear missing.
“Buster,” Lily squealed.
Reena smiled.
“I found him downstairs.”
Drew’s face went white.
Dr. Feld noticed immediately.
“Drew?”
He backed away from the screen.
“No.”
Reena continued.
“He was exactly where you left him.”
“Stop,” Dr. Feld said.
Drew stood.
“No.”
“Drew, you can leave.”
But Reena looked straight at him.
“You remember where Buster sleeps, don’t you?”
Dr. Feld ended the connection.
The screen went black.
Drew vomited.
The entire visit lasted four minutes.
Later, when he could speak, he explained.
Buster had never belonged downstairs.
Reena placed the rabbit outside the Quiet Room whenever punishment was coming.
It was a signal.
A warning.
If Drew saw Buster, he knew.
“She was telling me she still knows,” he whispered.
The therapeutic report went straight to the judge.
All further contact was suspended.
Reena’s bond conditions were reviewed.
Malcolm Price claimed misunderstanding.
No one believed him.
Then things became stranger.
Someone left Buster on my porch.
At 1:12 in the morning.
My camera captured the figure.
Hooded.
Face hidden.
Not Reena.
Her GPS showed her at home.
The police took the rabbit as evidence.
Fingerprints were limited.
Then Detective Holt called.
“We identified the car.”
“Whose?”
“Registered to Trent Maddox.”
My heart sank.
Trent had been cooperating.
Or pretending to.
Police found him the next morning.
He denied coming to my house.
But his vehicle tracker showed the truck had been nearby.
Then his story changed.
Reena called him using a prepaid phone.
Asked him to deliver the rabbit.
He said he refused.
“Then who drove the truck?” I asked.
Trent didn’t know.
Holt didn’t believe him.
A search of Trent’s workshop uncovered something worse.
Copies of basement footage.
Not just what police recovered.
Dozens of files.
Some dating back almost two years.
“Why would he keep them?”
“Leverage,” Holt said.
“Against Reena?”
“Apparently.”
Then Holt’s jaw tightened.
“And money.”
Trent had been blackmailing her.
That explained the transfers.
He knew what she was doing.
Maybe not at first.
Later, absolutely.
“Is he being charged?”
“Yes.”
“Did he hurt the children?”
“We’re still investigating.”
That evening, the prosecution disclosed enough for us to understand the pattern.
Reena punished.
Trent helped construct and maintain the room.
Then he discovered how bad things had become.
Instead of reporting it, he recorded evidence.
And used it to extort her.
Two adults.
Both choosing themselves.
The recovered files showed confinement.
Food withheld.
Drew being ordered to stand facing a wall for long periods.
Lily crying outside the door.
No footage of the worst injury.
But prosecutors no longer needed one dramatic video.
They had a pattern.
Then a file appeared labeled JUNE12.
The date Aaron died.
My chest tightened.
Holt warned me before describing it.
“There’s no violence.”
“Just tell me.”
The video showed Reena in the basement at 5:46 a.m.
Aaron’s crash occurred at 7:15.
She was on the phone.
Only her side was audible.
“Make sure he doesn’t come back before noon.”
Pause.
“I don’t care how.”
Another pause.
“No. Don’t be stupid.”
Then:
“I just need time to move the files.”
My skin went cold.
“Who was she talking to?”
“We don’t know.”
“Trent?”
“He denies it.”
“Do you believe him?”
“No.”
The video did not prove Reena caused Aaron’s crash.
But it proved she expected him to be away.
And was hiding evidence that morning.
Holt reopened the accident case formally.
Three days later, they found something in Aaron’s archived phone records.
A call placed at 6:42 a.m.
From Reena.
Aaron answered.
It lasted eleven minutes.
Then at 7:03, another number called him.
Seven minutes before the truck crossed the median.
The number belonged to Trent.
I felt the room close around me.
“What did he say?”
“We don’t have recording.”
“Then why does it matter?”
Holt’s face was grim.
“Because the truck driver who hit Aaron worked for Trent’s cousin.”
I stared at him.
“No.”
“We’re not jumping to conclusions.”
“He killed my brother?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“Then say what you’re thinking.”
Holt took a breath.
“I think Aaron’s crash deserves a second investigation.”
That night, after the children slept, I sat alone in the kitchen.
Then my phone buzzed.
Unknown number.
One message.
STOP DIGGING INTO AARON.
A second message followed.
YOU ALREADY HAVE THE KIDS.
A third:
BE SATISFIED.
I screenshot everything and called Holt.
Then another message arrived.
A photograph.
Taken through my kitchen window.
Of me holding the phone.
May you like
Someone was outside.
Watching.
