Chapter 1: The Little Girl in the Laundry Room
“Daddy? You’re home early!””
My daughter’s voice trembled as she looked up from a gray plastic washbasin on the laundry-room floor.
I stood frozen in the doorway.
Sophia was kneeling on the cold white tiles, wearing a faded lavender T-shirt and gray pants. Her neat little braids hung over her shoulders. Both hands were submerged in soapy water, rubbing a small white shirt against itself.
Beside her sat a mountain of dirty clothes.
Behind her stood a brand-new stainless-steel washing machine.
And the room was almost completely dark.
For several seconds, I couldn't speak.
“Sweetheart,” I finally said, stepping inside.
“Why are you washing clothes in the dark?””
Sophia blinked.
Then she looked toward the hallway before turning back to me.
“Daddy, I didn't know you were coming home.””
I dropped my briefcase.
“That's not what I asked, baby.””
She lowered her eyes.
“I was almost finished.””
I looked at the washing machine.
It was an expensive model I'd purchased six months earlier. It had automatic settings, a digital display, and enough capacity to wash an entire family's laundry in one load.
“Why aren't you using that machine?””
Sophia's fingers stopped moving.
“Patricia says I'm not allowed.””
I felt something tighten in my chest.
“Patricia told you that?””
Sophia nodded.
“She says I have to learn how to do things properly. She says machines make children lazy.””
I glanced at the pile of clothes.
There were adult shirts, towels, bed sheets, and even a heavy winter blanket.
“Sophia, who told you to wash all these?””
She hesitated.
“Patricia.””
“All of them?””
“Not all today.””
Her small voice grew even quieter.
“Some were from yesterday.””
I crouched beside her.
“Where is Patricia?””
Sophia looked toward the empty hallway again.
“They went on vacation.””
“They?””
“Patricia, Aunt Melissa, and Grandma Evelyn. They left this morning.””
I stared at her.
“Wait. They went on vacation and left you here?””
Sophia shook her head quickly.
“No, Daddy. Patricia said I could stay because I have schoolwork.””
I looked at the calendar hanging beside the refrigerator.
It was Saturday.
There was no school on Saturday.
“Did anyone stay with you?””
“No.””
“Did anyone come to check on you?””
She shook her head again.
I felt my jaw tighten.
“How long have you been alone?””
Sophia looked at the basin.
“I don't know.””
That answer frightened me more than anything else.
I reached for her hands.
She immediately pulled them against her chest.
“It's okay,” I said gently.
“Let Daddy see.””
“Please don't be mad, Daddy!””
Her voice cracked.
I froze.
“Mad? Why would I be mad at you?””
“Because I didn't finish.””
I slowly took her little hands between mine.
Her palms were red from scrubbing. The skin around her fingers looked irritated, and her fingertips were wrinkled from sitting in the water.
There was no serious injury, but the sight was enough to make my stomach turn.
“Who told you that you had to finish before I came home?””
Sophia swallowed.
“Patricia said if the laundry wasn't done, she'd know I was being disrespectful.””
I stared at her.
“Sweetheart, listen to me. You are eight years old. You are not supposed to spend your Saturday washing an entire family's clothes.””
“But Patricia said—”
“I don't care what Patricia said.””
My voice came out sharper than I intended.
Sophia flinched.
I immediately softened my expression.
“I'm sorry, baby. I'm not angry with you.””
I stood, filled a clean bowl with warm water, and returned to her side.
“Give me your hands.””
She slowly extended them.
I rinsed away the soap, careful not to hurt her irritated skin. Then I took a clean towel and gently dried her fingers.
“You did nothing wrong,” I whispered.
Sophia watched me with an expression I couldn't understand.
It was as if she wanted to believe me but had learned that believing adults could be dangerous.
I pulled out my phone.
“I'm calling someone to bring us dinner. Then we're going to talk.””
Her eyes widened.
“Are you calling Patricia?””
“No.””
“Please don't call her yet.””
I stopped.
“Why not?””
Sophia glanced toward the staircase.
Then she reached for the sleeve of my navy suit.
“Daddy, there's something in her bedroom.””
I looked down at her.
“What kind of something?””
She leaned closer.
Her voice became barely audible.
“Something she hides inside the closet. I saw it when I was bringing her suitcase upstairs.””
“What did you see?””
“I don't know. But I heard her talking about you.””
My heartbeat changed.
“What did she say about me?””
Sophia shook her head.
“Please don't make me tell you here.””
I studied her face.
“Why, sweetheart?””
“Because she said the walls have ears.””
For a moment, I simply stared at my daughter.
Then I heard something.
A faint electronic beep.
Coming from the hallway.
I turned toward the sound.
The security panel beside the kitchen was flashing.
Someone had remotely accessed the house system.
I checked my phone.
There was a notification from our home security application.
*FRONT DOOR: ACCESS CODE ENTERED.*
I looked at the front entrance.
The door was still closed.
“Daddy?”” Sophia whispered.
I put one finger to my lips.
The notification changed.
*ACCESS DENIED.*
Then another notification appeared.
*REMOTE CAMERA DISABLED.*
Someone had just switched off the cameras.
And whoever it was knew I had come home.
I grabbed my daughter gently and stood.
“Stay behind me.””
Sophia clutched my jacket.
“Daddy?””
“Yes, baby?””
Her eyes filled with tears.
“She wasn't supposed to know you were coming home today.””
I looked at her.
“What do you mean?””
Sophia swallowed.
Then she whispered the words that made my blood run cold.
“Patricia said if you ever came home early, I had to pretend everything was normal.””
I looked toward the staircase.
May you like
For the first time since entering my own house, I felt like a stranger inside it.
And I had a terrible feeling that the laundry room was only the beginning.
