I Heard a Lie When I Returned Home, But Fear Appeared on Patricia’s Face

In the morning, the door to my five-year-old twin daughters’ room was locked from the inside, while Patricia told me that it was all Clara’s fault.

I stood by Sophie’s bed and looked at the door handle. Quiet crying could be heard from the other side. Avery was saying something quickly, but I could not make out the words.

“Girls, open the door,” I called.

There was no answer.

Patricia stood behind me. In her hand she held a teacup, on whose rim a red trace of lipstick remained.

“You see?” she said quietly. “Clara has turned them against you. Now they are hiding from you.”

There was such concern in her voice that for a few seconds I even believed her. Then the door opened from the inside and Sophie rushed into my arms. Her fingers were cold.

“Daddy, are you leaving again today?”

I could not answer that question.

Two years ago I lost their mother in a car accident. Since then I had turned my life into an imitation of order. Security, private tutors, doctors, expensive gifts. I had everything except time.

That morning I kissed my daughters and left the house as if I were going to Chicago. On the way I told the driver to turn back, and instructed my employees to tell everyone that I had gone out of town for several days.

“Sir, do you really want to be left alone?” the driver asked.

“If anyone calls me, tell them I am on the plane.”

Three blocks away I got out of the car. I secretly returned through the side entrance, felt the cold handle of a pistol under my jacket, and for the first time realized how far I had gone because of my own suspicions.

Laughter came from the kitchen.

Not the polite laughter that my girls forced out in front of guests. It was real laughter. The kind that fills a house.

I stopped at the doorframe.

Clara stood by the kitchen island and was cutting yesterday’s birthday cake into small pieces. In front of her stood an old yellow lemon-shaped kitchen timer. She always used it when she helped the girls cook.

“This corner is Avery’s,” she told her. “There is the most cream.”

“You remembered!” Avery’s face lit up.

“I take cream emergencies very seriously.”

Sophie reached toward the glass of juice. Her fingers were trembling slightly. Before the glass tipped over, Clara silently caught it.

Something broke inside my stomach.

I had never noticed this.

“When Daddy leaves, will you stay with me until I fall asleep?” Sophie asked in a whisper.

Clara knelt in front of her.

“I will stay. The blue night-light will be on, the door will be half open, your rabbit will stand on the left.”

Sophie’s shoulders immediately dropped.

And I froze by the door.

Clara knew that Avery divided food by colors when she was anxious. She knew that Sophie’s stomach hurt when she was afraid. During thunderstorms she never mocked their fear. She simply sat down beside them and said: “I’m right here.”

Then I remembered Patricia’s words.

“Clara must go. The girls must understand whom they should rely on.”

At that moment I realized that this was not care. It was a desire for possession.

Suddenly the sound of footsteps came from the kitchen. Patricia stood in the doorway. Her gaze froze first on Clara, then on my jacket.

“You were not supposed to be here,” she said.

“Probably not, but I am here.”

Clara moved the girls behind her.

“Mr. Whitaker, I will explain to you…”

“No one will explain anything to me yet,” I interrupted. “Patricia, why did you want Clara to leave?”

Her fingers gripped the cup so tightly that the porcelain clicked.

“Because she is stealing the children from you.”

“Or because the children know something they should not know?”

Patricia’s face changed.

At that same moment I heard my lawyer’s voice from the hallway. He held a dark folder in his hand and was walking straight toward me. Clara stepped back, while Patricia could not hide her fear for the first time.

The lawyer placed the folder on the table and opened the clasp. His hand touched the first page when he said quietly…

The lawyer’s fingers touched the edge of the paper, but Patricia suddenly reached her hand forward.

“Why did you bring this folder here?”

“Because Mr. Whitaker asked me to,” he answered.

“He asked me for nothing.”

“He asked me yesterday. Quietly.”

Silence fell in the room. Only the lemon-shaped timer ticked on the island.

I looked at her.

“Clara, why didn’t you tell me that the girls were afraid?”

“Because you were not trying to listen to them,” she answered me. “Every time you sent gifts and canceled the meeting.”

Her words proved more painful than any accusation.

Patricia laughed mockingly.

“This woman lies to everyone. She made the children dependent on her.”

“Then why are they afraid to stay alone with you?” I asked.

Her smile disappeared.

Sophie took Avery’s hand.

“Daddy, don’t let Clara go.”

In the folder I saw only one sheet of paper, but my signature was written on it. I had never seen that document.

“Who prepared this?” I asked.

The lawyer looked first at Patricia, then at me.

“The answer is not on the paper. The answer is in the camera. And the recording will be deleted tomorrow if we do not manage to save it today…”

The lawyer opened the folder all the way and took out a small memory card from inside. Its surface was covered with scratches, as if someone had urgently needed to hide it.

“This is from the house security system,” he said. “Clara wrote to me last night. She told me that I had to save a copy of the recordings.”

Patricia lost her color.

“This is illegal.”

“What is illegal is what can be heard in the recording,” I replied.

The lawyer inserted the card into the computer. Yesterday’s hallway appeared on the screen. The time was ten eleven at night. Sophie stood by the wall, holding her rabbit. Patricia was bent over in front of her.

“If Clara does not leave, he will abandon you too,” she was saying. “Daddy will have other children and you will no longer want to stay in this house.”

Sophie’s lips trembled.

“Daddy will not do that.”

“Daddy can do anything. He loves children only when they are quiet.”

In the video Clara entered the frame and stood in front of Patricia.

“Enough,” she said.

“You no longer work here,” Patricia answered. “They will fire you tomorrow.”

“If they fire me, Mr. Ethan will learn everything.”

Patricia looked toward the camera.

“The cameras are his property. And I am a person of his house.”

The video stopped.

Sophie was crying. Avery hugged Clara. I was looking at the screen and for the first time perceived the walls of my own house as a foreign place.

“You knew?” I asked Patricia.

“I was only teaching them not to be weak.”

“No,” Clara said. “You were teaching them to be afraid of everyone.”

Patricia leaned toward me.

“If I leave, you will lose everything. You cannot cancel that signature.”

“Which signature?”

The lawyer took out a second document.

“This is a temporary guardianship consent drawn up in your name. But the signature is forged.”

My ears were buzzing.

“Who recorded this?”

The lawyer looked at his phone. A call had come in from the private clinic where my wife had been treated before her death.

“Mr. Whitaker, they said they found a file kept in your mother’s name. Inside it says why she left this house and whom your wife trusted in her final days.”

Patricia moved toward the door.

“You do not know what you are doing.”

I stepped into her path.

“No. Now I am beginning to understand for the first time.”

The phone rang again. The lawyer answered, listened for several seconds, and then his face changed.

“Sir, the clinic says that the folder was not left only for you. Along with it there is also a letter that was supposed to be handed to Patricia this morning…”

Patricia lowered her eyes, as if she had been waiting for these words all this time. And I realized that the video was only the beginning and that the most dangerous truth still lay in the closed folder…