Chapter 2: The Missing Room
“Where is Noah’s room?””
Richard asked the question so calmly that nobody understood how angry he was.
Mark stood near the fireplace.
Claudia remained beside the dining table.
The guests had stopped eating.
Nobody touched the wine.
Nobody spoke.
Mark rubbed the back of his neck.
“Dad, this really isn’t the time.””
Richard glanced at the little boy sleeping against his chest.
“No. I think this is exactly the time.””
He looked at the housekeeper who had spoken.
“Mrs. Alvarez?””
The older woman lowered her eyes.
Claudia immediately snapped.
“Marisol, go back to the kitchen.””
Richard held up one hand.
“She stays.””
Claudia stiffened.
Richard turned to Mrs. Alvarez.
“Where does Noah sleep?””
The woman hesitated.
“In the west wing.””
Mark spoke quickly.
“That’s right.””
Richard looked at him.
“Show me.””
Mark shook his head.
“Dad—”
“Show me.””
There was something in Richard’s voice that ended the argument.
Mark walked toward the hallway.
Richard followed with Noah in his arms.
Claudia came after them.
“Richard, you’re overreacting.””
He stopped without turning.
“Keep talking, Claudia. Every word helps me understand what I’m looking at.””
She fell silent.
The west wing was colder than the rest of the lodge.
Richard noticed it immediately.
The main rooms were heated by the stone fireplaces and hidden floor vents.
The hallway leading west had no fire.
No lamps.
No warmth.
He looked at Mark.
“Why is it so cold here?””
Mark shrugged.
“It’s an old section of the house.””
Richard said nothing.
At the end of the hallway was a narrow door.
Mark reached for it.
Richard noticed the lock.
A simple brass bolt sat on the outside.
Richard’s eyes narrowed.
“Why is there a lock on the outside of a child’s room?””
Mark froze.
Claudia stepped forward.
“It’s not a lock.””
Richard touched the bolt.
“It looks like one.””
“It’s for safety.””
Richard looked over his shoulder.
“Safety for whom?””
Claudia said nothing.
Richard opened the door.
The smell hit him first.
Dampness.
Old fabric.
Dust.
The room was barely large enough for a bed, a dresser, and a small wooden chair.
The window was cracked open.
Snow had blown onto the sill.
There was no toy box.
No books.
No stuffed animals.
No colorful drawings.
No night-light.
Just a narrow mattress on a metal frame.
Richard stood very still.
Noah stirred.
His eyes opened.
He looked around.
Then he whispered, “Sorry.””
Richard felt something inside him break.
“Sorry for what?””
Noah’s little mouth trembled.
“For the bed.””
Richard stared at him.
“The bed?””
Noah nodded.
“Mommy says I break nice beds.””
Richard looked at Mark.
Mark’s face had gone pale.
Claudia crossed her arms.
“He exaggerates.””
Richard’s voice turned cold.
“He’s three.””
“He has a dramatic personality.””
Richard looked down at Noah.
The child was watching him carefully.
As though one wrong answer could make everything disappear again.
Richard sat on the edge of the mattress.
The metal frame groaned.
“Noah,” he said softly, “who told you you have to sleep here?””
Noah looked toward Claudia.
Then toward Mark.
“Claudia.””
Richard looked up.
Claudia inhaled sharply.
“Children say things.””
“Noah,” Richard continued, “where are your toys?””
The boy pointed toward the dresser.
Richard opened the top drawer.
Nothing.
Second drawer.
Two socks.
One small plastic truck with a missing wheel.
Third drawer.
A folded towel.
That was it.
Richard opened the closet.
Three shirts.
Two pairs of pants.
One sweater.
Every item was torn.
Every item had been patched more than once.
Richard pulled out a pair of shoes.
They were two sizes too small.
The soles had been worn nearly smooth.
He turned around.
“How long?””
Mark looked at the floor.
“How long has this been his room?””
“Dad—”
“How long?””
Mark swallowed.
“A few months.””
Richard’s jaw clenched.
Claudia cut in.
“He doesn’t need a nursery anymore.””
“He is three.””
“He’s independent.””
Richard laughed once.
There was no humor in it.
“Independent?””
He picked up the plastic truck.
“This is his only toy?””
Claudia frowned.
“He breaks everything.””
Richard turned toward Mark.
“Where is the money I send you every month?””
Mark’s face tightened.
“For the family.””
“What family?””
Mark’s eyes flickered.
Richard stepped closer.
“The family I thought you were building?””
Claudia answered before Mark could.
“We have expenses.””
“What expenses?””
“Our lifestyle.””
Richard looked around the empty room.
“Your lifestyle?””
The words came out almost as a whisper.
Mark tried to intervene.
“Dad, you don’t understand what raising a child is like.””
Richard’s face changed.
“I raised you.””
“This is different.””
“No,” Richard said.
“It’s not.””
He looked at the broken truck.
“It’s easier now. You have more money than I had when you were a child.””
Mark said nothing.
Richard’s gaze moved to the wall.
There was something scratched near the bottom.
A series of tiny lines.
One.
Two.
Three.
Then more.
Richard crouched.
“What are those?””
Noah looked down.
“Days.””
Richard stared.
“Days until what?””
Noah whispered:
“Grandpa birthday.””
Richard’s eyes burned.
“How long have you been waiting?””
Noah held up three fingers.
“Three sleeps.””
Richard pulled the child close.
The boy buried his face against him.
Behind Richard, Claudia shifted her weight.
Then something slipped from the pocket of her dress and hit the floor.
A key.
Richard looked down.
Claudia rushed to pick it up.
He was faster.
He bent and caught it.
“What does this open?””
She stopped.
“It’s nothing.””
Richard looked at the tiny brass key.
Stamped into the metal was one word.
OFFICE.
Mark stepped forward.
“Dad, give it back.””
Richard stared at him.
“Why?””
Mark’s voice dropped.
“Because there are things in that office that don’t concern you.””
Richard slowly smiled.
“Everything involving my grandson concerns me.””
He walked out of the room with Noah in his arms.
The key remained in his hand.
At the end of the hallway, he turned.
The west wing had another door.
One Richard had never noticed before.
He inserted the key.
The lock clicked.
Mark shouted behind him.
“Dad, don’t!””
Richard opened the door.
And saw the wall.
It was covered with photographs of Noah.
Hundreds of them.
But none showed the happy child Richard knew from old family pictures.
They showed something else.
A child crying.
A child eating alone.
A child standing barefoot beside an empty bathtub.
And beneath every photograph was the same handwritten word:
“AFTER.””
Richard stepped inside.
Then he saw the final photograph.
His birthday party.
Taken three hours earlier.
The wooden airplane was in Noah’s hands.
A red circle had been drawn around it.
May you like
And underneath it, Claudia had written:
DO NOT LET RICHARD SEE THIS.