PART 6 — Valerie's Notebook
PART 6 — Valerie's Notebook
I made it home in less than fifteen minutes.
Emma was waiting by the front door.
She didn't say a word as I stepped inside.
Instead, she handed me a small pink notebook.
It was worn around the edges.
The cover was decorated with faded stickers of butterflies and stars.
Across the front, written in Valerie's careful handwriting, were three simple words.
My Secret Book
I looked at Emma.
"Has Valerie seen you find it?"
She shook her head.
"No. She was taking a nap with Rex."
I nodded.
"Good."
I wasn't reading it because I wanted to invade my daughter's privacy.
I was reading it because I needed to know whether she was safe.
I sat at the kitchen table and slowly opened the first page.
March 3
Daddy left for work early today.
Claire said I'm a big girl now.
She said big girls help with babies.
Mateo cried a lot.
I hope I did a good job.
My chest tightened.
I turned the page.
March 12
I dropped one of Mateo's socks.
Claire got upset.
I said I was sorry.
She said sorry doesn't fix everything.
Another page.
April 8
Daddy brought me ice cream today.
I didn't tell him my back hurt because he looked happy.
I don't want Daddy to be sad.
I had to stop reading.
I covered my face with one hand.
Every page carried the same heartbreaking pattern.
Valerie wasn't writing like a child asking for help.
She was writing like a child trying to protect her father from worrying.
Emma quietly sat across from me.
"What does it say?" she asked.
I handed her the notebook.
She read for several minutes before wiping away a tear.
"Daniel..."
"I know."
"This has been going on for months."
"I know."
Neither of us spoke again.
Near the middle of the notebook, one page caught my attention.
Unlike the others, the handwriting was shaky.
The paper was stained with what looked like dried tears.
June 18
Today my arms got tired.
Mateo is getting heavier.
Claire said if I put him down and he cried, it would be my fault.
I wanted to call Daddy.
But Claire said Daddy only likes brave girls.
I'm trying really hard to be brave.
I closed my eyes.
Claire had never needed to yell.
She had convinced Valerie that asking for help meant disappointing me.
That lie had done more damage than shouting ever could.
I turned to the final pages.
The entries became shorter.
Messier.
Almost as if Valerie had been too tired to write.
Yesterday
I spilled some milk.
I cleaned it up.
My back hurt.
I wanted Daddy.
That was it.
The page ended there.
The same day she'd called me.
The same day everything changed.
A small folded piece of paper slipped from the back cover and landed on the table.
I unfolded it carefully.
It wasn't part of the journal.
It was a shopping receipt.
The date matched the previous afternoon.
The total was less than twenty dollars.
A carton of milk.
Bread.
Bananas.
Baby wipes.
The receipt was time-stamped 1:57 p.m.
I frowned.
Claire had claimed she'd been grocery shopping all morning.
But the receipt proved she hadn't bought the groceries until nearly two o'clock.
That still left almost six hours unaccounted for.
My phone buzzed.
It was Claire.
Her first call in almost twenty-four hours.
I let it ring once.
Twice.
Then I answered.
"Where have you been?" I asked calmly.
"Oh, thank goodness," she said. "I've been trying to reach you."
I looked at my phone.
There were no missed calls.
No text messages.
Nothing.
"You haven't called me."
A brief silence followed.
"I... I must've had bad reception."
Another lie.
"I stayed with a friend after shopping," she continued. "I figured you had the kids."
"You figured?"
"They're fine, aren't they?"
I stared at Valerie's notebook lying open on the table.
"Our daughter had a 103-degree fever."
Claire said nothing.
"Our son hadn't been properly fed for hours."
Still silence.
Finally she sighed.
"Daniel, you're making this sound worse than it was."
I felt something inside me grow cold.
Not angry.
Certain.
"I'll be home in an hour," she said. "We'll talk then."
"No," I replied.
"We'll do more than talk."
She laughed nervously.
"What does that mean?"
"It means I'm done guessing."
I ended the call before she could answer.
Emma looked at me.
"What are you going to do?"
I glanced toward the hallway, where Valerie was still asleep.
Then I looked at the memory card, the gate footage, the handwritten chore list, and the little pink notebook spread across the kitchen table.
"They all tell the same story," I said quietly.
"But they're only my evidence."
I picked up my phone and dialed one more number.
The family attorney who had handled our wills years earlier.
He answered on the second ring.
"Daniel? It's been a while."
"It has."
"What can I do for you?"
I took a slow breath.
"I need to know exactly what I have to do to protect my children."
The attorney's voice immediately turned serious.
"Start from the beginning."
For the next hour, I told him everything.
And when I finally finished, he said something that confirmed my worst fear.
"Daniel..."
"If everything you've described can be documented, you shouldn't wait another day."
"You need to act before your wife comes home."
Those words settled over the room like a storm.
May you like
Because for the first time, I realized this wasn't just about uncovering the truth anymore.
It was about making sure Valerie and Mateo would never have to live through another day like the last one.
