Chapter 5 - THE THINGS MAISIE NEVER SAIDReid canceled work for the week.
His assistant protested.
He did not care.
Maisie noticed.
“You’re staying home?”
“Yes.”
“Because of me?”
“Because I need to.”
She looked uncertain.
“Will you lose your job?”
Reid frowned.
“No.”
“Grandma said if I bothered you at work too much, you could lose it.”
There it was.
Another piece.
Reid sat beside her on the sofa.
“Maisie.”
She looked at him.
“My job is not more important than you.”
“Grandma said people depend on you.”
“They do.”
“So…”
“So I still come home when you need me.”
Maisie looked toward the red button.
Reid followed her eyes.
“Have you wanted to press it before?”
She nodded.
“How many times?”
“Lots.”
“Why didn’t you?”
Maisie picked at her sleeve.
“Because Grandma said it calls the police.”
“It can, depending on the setting.”
“She said if police came, they’d think you can’t take care of me.”
Reid went still.
“What else?”
“She said maybe they’d take me away.”
His stomach turned.
“Maisie, that is not how it works.”
“I know now.”
“Did you believe her then?”
“Yes.”
Reid closed his eyes.
Cecelia had weaponized his emergency system.
A tool designed to make Maisie safe became another source of fear.
“Yesterday?”
Maisie touched the underside of the table.
“She got really mad.”
“So you pressed it.”
“I thought…”
“What?”
“If somebody was going to take me away, maybe it would still be better than…”
She stopped.
Reid felt the room tilt.
“Better than what?”
Maisie shook her head.
He did not push.
“Okay.”
She looked relieved.
He hated how much relief she showed whenever he did not force an answer.
What had he missed?
Throughout the day, pieces came gradually.
Cecelia mocked Maisie when she cried.
Told her she was “too sensitive like Lauren.”
Threatened to cancel birthday plans if she complained.
Once threw away a drawing Maisie made for her mother because “your mother doesn’t deserve gifts.”
Never hit her.
Never left visible injuries.
That technical boundary seemed to matter to Cecelia.
As long as she did not strike the child, she could tell herself nothing serious happened.
Reid began taking notes.
Not interrogating.
Recording dates Maisie volunteered.
That evening, Maisie showed him a notebook.
Inside were simple entries.
JAN 3 — Grandma mad. Study.
JAN 14 — cried at dinner. Said Mom didn’t want me.
FEB 2 — Dad work. Grandma said don’t call.
MAR 11 — red button. She stopped it.
Reid stared.
“You wrote this?”
Maisie nodded.
“Why?”
“Mom used to tell me writing helps remember.”
Reid looked up sharply.
“You remember Mom saying that?”
“A little.”
Lauren left when Maisie was two.
Memory from that age would be fragmented.
Perhaps the phrase came from a later call.
“When did Mom tell you that?”
Maisie frowned.
“On the phone.”
Reid’s heart stopped.
“What phone?”
“Grandma’s.”
“When?”
“Last year.”
He stared.
“You talked to your mother?”
Maisie nodded.
“Only once.”
Reid felt an entirely new kind of shock.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Grandma said Mom wasn’t supposed to call.”
“What happened?”
“Grandma got mad.”
“Did she end the call?”
“Yes.”
“Did Mom call again?”
“I don’t know.”
Reid stood.
“Maisie, what did your mother say?”
“She cried.”
“Anything else?”
“She said she loved me.”
Reid looked away.
For six years he had believed Lauren had barely tried.
Cecelia had always reinforced that belief.
Lauren moved on.
Lauren does not want responsibility.
Lauren will hurt Maisie more by coming and going.
Reid had accepted it because believing his ex-wife abandoned them was easier than examining the failure of their marriage.
Now his daughter had spoken to Lauren inside this house.
And Cecelia had hidden it.
Reid called his attorney.
“Find every attempt Lauren Lane has made to contact Maisie in the last six years.”
The attorney asked:
“Why?”
“Because I think somebody has been keeping records from me.”
“Who?”
May you like
Reid looked toward the hallway where his daughter stood clutching the notebook.
“My mother.”
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