She nodded. “She bought clippers yesterday. Said she was saving money cutting Derek’s hair. Strange thing to brag about, don’t you think?”
I froze.
“Clippers?”
“Brand new. Saw them in her purse. Funny, right? She spends a fortune on a cake, but suddenly cares about saving on haircuts.”
My stomach tightened.
Sophie’s braids. Tracy’s flicker of jealousy. The silence upstairs. It started connecting in a way I didn’t like.
“Where are those kids?” I said a little too loudly.
Martha appeared at my elbow. “Relax. They’re fine, playing games. Don’t be so overprotective.”
She said it like a command, the same tone she’d used when I was sixteen and Tracy had ruined my prom dress.
“Don’t be dramatic, Dana. You’ll ruin the evening.”
I forced a nod, but my pulse was hammering. I walked to the bottom of the stairs, listening. Nothing but muffled game noises. I told myself not to jump to conclusions, but the itch under my skin said otherwise.
When I turned, I saw Derek staring out the window, beer bottle in hand, avoiding eye contact with me like it burned.
That was the tell.
He knew.
He damn well knew something was happening upstairs.
I started up the stairs. Each creak under my feet loud enough to make my chest tighten. Halfway up, I heard a faint sound too soft for anyone else to notice. A sniffle. A whimper. Not laughter. Not excitement.
I took the last few steps faster, my hand gripping the banister hard enough to hurt. The hallway was too quiet. Doors closed. My old bedroom was empty. The guest room, too. Cole’s voice drifted faintly from behind the closed door of his room, shouting at a video game.
But that wasn’t what stopped me.
It was the sound from the bathroom.
A soft, muffled sob.
I stepped closer, pressing my palm to the door. “Sophie.”
My voice came out sharper than I intended.
There was a pause, then a small, broken voice. “Go away.”
My chest constricted. “Sweetheart, it’s me. Open the door.”
“I don’t want you to see,” she sobbed.
The air behind me shifted. Tracy was leaning against the wall, phone in her hand, smile curling at the edges.
“She’s fine,” she said smoothly. “Kids are dramatic.”
Something in my gut snapped tight like a rope. That look on her face wasn’t just smug. It was satisfied. And that was the moment I knew something had gone terribly, irreversibly wrong.
I shoved past Tracy and twisted the bathroom handle.
Locked.
My knuckles rapped against the wood harder this time. “Sophie, unlock the door right now.”
There was a shuffle inside, followed by another stifled sob. My pulse kicked up, heat rising in my ears. The voices from the bedroom down the hall, Cole and Haley yelling at their game, sounded distant, irrelevant. All I heard was my daughter’s voice breaking.
Tracy leaned one shoulder against the wall, tapping her phone like she was checking notifications. “Don’t be so dramatic. She’s probably crying because she lost a round of Mario Kart.”
“Give me the key,” I snapped.
She widened her eyes innocently. “What key? It’s just kids. You’re always making a scene, Dana. That’s why nobody likes coming to these things.”
I pounded on the door again. “Sophie, I’m counting to three.”
My training kicked in, sharp and commanding.
“One. Two—
