The Secret Between My Husband and My Daughter
One afternoon I passed the sitting room and heard Brielle whispering.
“Mom really can’t know?”
Everett’s voice dropped.
“Not yet. You’ll ruin everything if you tell her too soon.”
I walked in immediately.
They both jumped.
Everett was holding construction paper.
Markers scattered around Brielle.
They were making me a birthday card.
I laughed nervously and apologized.
But the uneasy feeling came back a few days later.
From the kitchen window I watched Everett pull several bills out of his wallet and hand them to Brielle.
She glanced toward the house, quickly folded the money, and tucked it into her pocket.
Everett leaned down and whispered something I couldn’t hear.
This time I said nothing.
I just watched.
Over the following weeks I noticed more quiet conversations.
Closed doors.
Sudden silence whenever I walked in.
Brielle smiling at looks from Everett I didn’t understand.
I hated what the suspicion was doing to me.
But I couldn’t shut it off.
Then, two nights before Christmas, I woke up shortly after midnight.
Brielle’s bed was empty.
My stomach tightened.
Voices drifted up from downstairs.
Everett.
Brielle.
I went down quietly and approached the living room.
The door was cracked open.
Then I heard Everett whisper:
“Quickly. We need to finish before your mother comes downstairs.”
I grabbed my phone and pushed the door open.
Then stopped.
