Chapter 2 - The Smile on the Staircase.
Ethan took Isabella first to the kitchen instead of upstairs.
He did not know what the timer meant yet, and he did not want her walking toward something she feared simply because a sound had told her to move.
The kitchen looked staged for a real estate magazine.
White marble counters gleamed beneath pendant lights, and a bowl of untouched lemons sat in the center island.
Ethan opened the refrigerator.
It was full.
Fresh fruit, yogurt, cheeses, prepared meals, sparkling water, and imported desserts filled every shelf.
He looked at Isabella.
"What do you want?"
She stared at the food as if it belonged to someone else.
"Can I have yogurt?"
The question was careful.
Permission-seeking.
"You can have whatever you want."
"Even the strawberry one?"
Ethan's stomach tightened.
"Especially the strawberry one."
He set yogurt, sliced peaches, bread, and water in front of her.
Isabella sat at the island but did not begin eating.
She looked toward Beatriz, who had followed them into the kitchen and now stood near the doorway with her arms folded.
"Go ahead," Ethan said.
Isabella opened the yogurt slowly.
Beatriz gave a weary laugh.
"Now I'm apparently starving her."
Ethan did not respond.
"Ethan, this is absurd."
He pulled out the stool beside Isabella and sat.
"Where is Rosa?"
"I told you."
"You said she left."
"She did."
"Why?"
"Because she was becoming impossible."
"Impossible how?"
Beatriz looked at Isabella.
"Do we need to discuss staff problems in front of a child?"
"Yes."
The answer came so quickly that Beatriz blinked.
Ethan continued.
"If the staff problem involved my daughter, we absolutely do."
Beatriz leaned against the counter.
"Rosa undermined me constantly."
"Give me an example."
"Every time I tried to set a rule, she would quietly undo it."
"What rule?"
"Bedtime."
"Another."
"Sweets."
"Another."
Beatriz's mouth tightened.
"Chores."
Ethan looked at Isabella's hands around the yogurt spoon.
"What kind of chores?"
"Normal ones."
"Define normal."
"Making her bed, putting clothes away, helping clear dishes."
"Dragging garbage across the driveway?"
"That happened once."
Isabella stopped moving her spoon.
Ethan saw it.
"Bella, has that happened once?"
Beatriz's voice sharpened.
"Ethan."
He never looked away from his daughter.
"You can answer me."
Isabella whispered, "No."
"How many times?"
She stared at the yogurt.
"I don't know."
"More than five?"
A nod.
"More than ten?"
Another nod.
Beatriz pushed away from the counter.
"This is exactly the problem."
Ethan finally looked at her.
"What problem?"
"You make her think every expectation is cruelty."
"I asked how many times she carried garbage."
"And you're turning it into a trial."
"Maybe because every answer creates another question."
Beatriz crossed her arms tighter.
"You were gone for three months."
The words were aimed precisely.
Ethan knew it.
"Yes."
"I was here."
"Yes."
"I handled the school, the house, the schedule, everything."
"Then you should be able to explain the schedule."
Beatriz's expression flickered.
"What schedule?"
Ethan looked toward the ceiling.
"The timer."
A beat passed.
"I already told you."
"You said it was for screen time."
"It is."
Ethan turned to Isabella.
"What happens when the timer rings?"
She immediately looked at Beatriz.
Ethan placed his hand flat on the counter between them.
"Look at me."
Isabella did.
"Nothing you say here will make me angry with you."
Her eyes glistened.
"I have to go to the laundry room."
Beatriz's voice cut in.
"She likes helping fold towels."
Isabella shook her head.
This time the movement was clear.
"What happens in the laundry room?" Ethan asked.
"The list."
"What list?"
"My list."
Beatriz stepped forward.
"Enough."
Ethan stood.
"No."
The single word stopped her.
He looked at Isabella.
"Show me."
Isabella slid down from the stool.
She had eaten only half the yogurt.
Ethan noticed her glance at the remaining food.
"Take it with you."
She looked surprised.
He handed her the cup.
They walked down the back hallway toward the service side of the villa.
Beatriz followed.
The laundry room door was closed.
Isabella stopped several feet away.
"It's in there."
Ethan opened the door.
The room was large, clean, and hot from the dryer.
A whiteboard hung on the wall beside shelves of folded linens.
At first glance, it looked like an ordinary household task board.
Then Ethan stepped closer.
At the top, written in Beatriz's neat handwriting, were the words ISABELLA'S RESPONSIBILITY CHART.
Below them were columns for Morning, Afternoon, Evening, and Consequence.
Ethan read silently.
Make beds.
Collect bathroom towels.
Carry laundry downstairs.
Sweep terrace.
Wipe outdoor table.
Sort recycling.
Take trash to service bins.
Clean shoes.
Organize pantry cans.
No dessert if incomplete.
No tablet if incomplete.
No phone call with Dad if incomplete.
Ethan stopped breathing for a moment.
He read the last line again.
No phone call with Dad if incomplete.
"What is this?"
Beatriz answered quickly.
"A motivational chart."
Ethan turned.
"You made contact with me a reward?"
"Don't twist it."
"It says she loses phone calls with me."
"Only when she refused basic responsibilities."
"You told me she was tired when she missed calls."
"Sometimes she was."
"You told me she had playdates."
"Sometimes she did."
"You told me the internet was unstable."
Beatriz said nothing.
Ethan's eyes moved lower on the board.
There were dates beside each task.
Dozens of check marks.
Three months of them.
Some days included handwritten notes.
Too slow.
Complained.
Forgot glass doors.
Cried.
Repeat tomorrow.
Ethan reached for his phone.
Beatriz immediately moved between him and the board.
"What are you doing?"
"Photographing it."
"That's ridiculous."
"Move."
"Ethan, this is our home."
"Exactly."
He waited.
Beatriz did not move.
For the first time that afternoon, Ethan raised his voice slightly.
"Step aside."
She did.
He photographed every section of the chart.
Then he opened a notes app and recorded a slow video of the room, the board, and the date displayed on his phone screen.
Beatriz stared at him.
"You're documenting me?"
"I'm documenting what I found."
"Because a child doesn't like chores?"
"Because you blocked my calls as punishment."
"She lied to you constantly."
Isabella recoiled.
Ethan turned immediately.
"No."
Beatriz frowned.
"Excuse me?"
"You do not call her a liar in front of me."
"She is manipulating you right now."
Isabella's face crumpled with panic.
"I'm not."
"I know," Ethan said.
Beatriz laughed once in disbelief.
"Of course you do."
Ethan took the whiteboard marker from its tray.
He drew one long line through the entire schedule.
Then he wrote in large block letters beneath it.
CANCELLED.
Isabella stared at the word.
Ethan capped the marker.
"There is no more list."
Her shoulders lowered by an inch.
It was the first visible sign of relief he had seen.
Beatriz turned toward the doorway.
"Fine."
She sounded calm again.
Too calm.
"Do whatever you want."
Ethan watched her leave.
He did not believe the retreat for a second.
He took another photograph.
Then he noticed a small red light beneath the upper shelf.
It blinked once.
Ethan stepped closer.
A compact indoor camera had been mounted in the corner, angled directly toward the worktable.
"Did you know that was there?"
Isabella nodded.
"She watches the list."
Ethan looked toward the empty doorway where Beatriz had disappeared.
"From where?"
Isabella whispered, "Her phone."
Ethan reached for the camera.
Then he stopped.
If it had recorded Isabella, it might also have recorded Beatriz.
He lowered his hand.
"We're not touching it."
Isabella looked confused.
"Why?"
May you like
Ethan took her hand.
"Because sometimes the thing watching you can become the thing that tells the truth."
