Chapter 17 - TYLER’S NOTEBOOK DISAPPEARSMonica found the notebook three days later.
She was looking for Tyler’s missing library book.
The spiral notebook sat beneath a stack of drawings.
She opened it.
The first page:
GRANDMA UNDERSTANDS EVERYTHING.
Monica stopped breathing.
Then she read.
Page after page.
Dates.
Times.
Her words.
Mom called Grandma a burden.
Mom canceled Nurse Rachel.
Mom threw away dinner.
Grandma said YES when I asked if she was scared.
Monica sat on Tyler’s bed.
Her hands began shaking.
This was not a child’s vague accusation anymore.
It was chronology.
An archive.
A mirror.
She took the notebook.
When Tyler came home, he knew immediately.
His room looked slightly different.
The stack of art supplies had moved.
He searched.
Nothing.
He ran downstairs.
“Where is it?”
Monica looked up.
“Where is what?”
“My notebook.”
“What notebook?”
“You took it.”
“Tyler.”
“Give it back!”
Gavin was not home.
Beatrice watched from the living room.
Monica stood.
“You have been spying on me for weeks.”
“It’s mine.”
“You wrote lies.”
“They’re not lies.”
“You wrote down private family situations like some little investigator.”
“I wrote what you did.”
Monica’s face twisted.
“Do you have any idea what you’re doing to this family?”
Tyler’s eyes filled.
“You keep saying that.”
“Because it’s true.”
“No.”
His voice became steadier.
“You’re tearing the family apart.”
Monica stared.
Tyler continued.
“I’m just writing down what you do when Dad isn’t here.”
The sentence struck harder than shouting.
Monica stepped backward.
Beatrice’s eyes filled with fierce pride.
“Where’s my notebook?”
“I threw it away.”
Tyler went pale.
“You what?”
“You need to stop.”
He ran toward the kitchen trash.
Empty.
Outside bins.
Nothing.
Monica had taken it elsewhere.
Tyler began crying.
Not loudly.
That hurt more.
“You can’t erase it.”
Monica’s jaw tightened.
“Go upstairs.”
Tyler turned toward Beatrice.
“Grandma, I’m sorry.”
Beatrice squeezed his hand once.
That night Tyler lay awake staring at the ceiling.
Then he remembered.
His tablet.
Several times he had photographed pages because he worried the ink might smear.
The photos had automatically uploaded to his school cloud folder.
Not every page.
Enough.
Tyler sat up.
May you like
Monica had taken the notebook.
She had not taken the truth.
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