She remembered when his library books were due. She packed fruit instead of candy. She knew exactly how to calm Ethan after a nightmare.
And Ethan adored her. Or at least, I had always believed he did.
I hurried inside. I found Ethan sitting silently at the kitchen table. His backpack was still on. His hands rested in his lap. He stared at the wooden surface without moving.
The entire house suddenly felt unnaturally quiet. Somewhere down the hallway, I could hear a closet door opening and closing. Melissa was there.
I sat beside Ethan. “Sweetheart,” I asked gently, “did something happen today?”
He looked toward the hallway. Then he whispered something that made my stomach tighten.
“Please don’t tell Melissa.”
Every hair on my arms seemed to stand up. I lowered my voice. “What happened?”
Ethan hesitated. His lips pressed together. His eyes filled with the fearful expression children get when they’re trying to carry something far too heavy for them.
Then he shook his head. “I promised.”
That was enough.
Every instinct inside me wanted to pull him into my arms and demand to know everything. Another part of me wanted to run down the hallway and confront Melissa immediately.
But I forced myself to breathe. If Ethan was afraid of her, I couldn’t let her know he had spoken to me.
So I tried to act normal. I walked back into the living room.
Melissa was putting on her coat. Her dark hair was already tied back, and her purse sat on the console table near the front door.
“I’m taking Ethan to the park,” she said with a smile. Her voice sounded casual. But something about the way she looked at me made me uneasy. It was as if she were watching me too closely.
“No,” I said. The word came out sharper than I intended.
Melissa stopped. I softened my voice, even though my chest felt tight. “I think we’ll stay home today.”
For the first time since I had known her, her smile disappeared. Completely. Her face went blank, and the warmth vanished so quickly that for a moment I wondered whether I had imagined it.
“Is he sick?” she asked. “No. I just want him home.”
She stared at me for another second. Then, without saying anything else, she picked up her purse and walked outside.
The door closed behind her. I hurried to the window and pulled the curtain aside by less than an inch.
Melissa crossed the lawn. She got into her car. But instead of driving away, she parked across the street. Then she turned the engine off. She remained behind the wheel.
That was when I knew something was seriously wrong. My hands began to shake.
I called the police. I moved into the kitchen so Ethan wouldn’t hear every word. I told the dispatcher that my son’s bus driver had warned me about our nanny. I explained that Ethan was frightened, that Melissa had refused to leave the area, and that she was sitting in her car directly across from our home.
The dispatcher told me officers were only a few minutes away. “Stay inside,” she instructed. “Do not touch anything.”
I promised I wouldn’t.
I ended the call and pressed the phone against my chest. Through the kitchen window, I could still see part of Melissa’s car. She hadn’t moved.
Then Ethan quietly tugged on my sleeve. “Mom…”
I looked down. His face had gone pale. He was staring toward the backyard.
“Melissa said I wasn’t supposed to tell you.”
My stomach dropped. I crouched down in front of him. “What weren’t you supposed to tell me?”
He pointed toward the old wooden playhouse. The playhouse had been in our yard since Ethan was four. My brother had built it from cedar boards, complete with a small window, a crooked bench, and a roof painted dark green.
Ethan hardly used it anymore.
For a moment, I couldn’t move. Then I was running before I even realized what I was doing.
I burst through the back door and sprinted across the yard. Cold air hit my face. The grass was damp beneath my shoes.
The little wooden playhouse stood exactly where it always had. Quiet. Ordinary.
Except for one thing. One corner of the roof looked different. A panel had been lifted just enough to leave a narrow gap.
My heart was pounding so hard that I could barely breathe. I climbed onto the small bench beside the playhouse. The wood creaked beneath my weight.
I reached upward, my fingers inches from the loose panel. Then I froze.
A car door slammed across the street. I turned. Melissa had gotten out of her car. And she was running straight toward our backyard.
I looked back at the roof. Then I reached for the loose panel. My fingers closed around it.
But before I could lift it, Melissa shouted from the side gate. “Phoebe, stop!”
Her voice cracked across the yard.
I pulled the panel upward. Beneath it was a black canvas bag. It was wedged beneath the roof, with one strap looped around a wooden beam to keep it from sliding. It was far too large to belong inside a children’s playhouse.
The zipper was partially open.
Melissa reached the playhouse just as I dragged the bag free. “Give it to me,” she said. She was breathing heavily. All the color had drained from her face.
I jumped down from the bench and held the bag tightly against my chest. “Stay away from me.” “You don’t understand.” “Then explain it.”
She took a step toward me. I stepped backward.
Through the kitchen window, I saw Ethan watching us. His small face was pressed against the glass.
“Go inside, Ethan!” I shouted. He disappeared from view.
Melissa looked toward the house. “Please,” she whispered. “He shouldn’t see this.”
That sentence frightened me more than anything she had said before.
I placed the bag on the grass and reached for the zipper. Melissa grabbed my wrist. I pulled away hard. “Don’t touch me!”
Then I heard them. Sirens. They were coming from the end of the street.
