Chapter Twenty-six #2
Officer Landers stepped forward, his gaze steady on Grant. Her husband’s posture was stooped, his eyes avoiding contact, as if the floor held answers he desperately needed. Landers cleared his throat, a sound that seemed to echo off the nursery walls, magnifying the gravity of the situation.
“Mr. Ellington,” Landers started, his voice firm yet not unkind, “can you tell me about tonight? Your whereabouts, and who was supposed to be watching Emma?”
Grant looked up and seemed to grapple with the weight of his words. He ran a hand through his disheveled hair, and his voice, when it finally came, was laced with a regret that didn’t quite mask the slurred edges.
“I’d had a couple,” he confessed, the admittance hanging heavy between them. “Just a few drinks with our new neighbors. Emma … she was asleep in her crib. Ruthie—my daughter—was here, watching TV in the living room. She knows how to handle Emma. She was supposed to keep an eye on her.”
Rodriguez took notes in his small black book, his expression unreadable.
Landers nodded for Grant to continue, but he had nothing else to say.
Charlotte noted that there was something hollow in the way he stood there, a father wrapped in the guilt of decisions made and their unfathomable consequences.
She stood up and walked over to the crib. Her fingers gripped the side, her knuckles whitening as she tried to steady herself.
“Officer,” she began, the word catching in her throat like a plea. “Maddie …, Grant’s ex-wife … she’s made threats before.” Her voice gained strength, fueled by a mixture of fear and conviction. “Against me and Emma. And Ruthie—she’s not innocent in this, either.”
She met the officer’s gaze, willing him to understand the gravity of her accusation.
“They’re in this together. I know it. Maddie never liked me, and Ruthie, well, I distinctly asked Grant to never leave Emma alone with her.
She’s always been jealous, and”—Charlotte’s breath hitched as she fought back tears—“and she’s mentally disturbed.
And the baby monitor wasn’t on.” She looked at Grant. No response.
The room fell silent for a moment, save for the static from the officers’ radios. Officer Rodriguez scribbled down her statement, his jaw set in a hard line as he processed her words. Grant shifted uncomfortably at the periphery, his presence a shadow that loomed despite his silence.
“How old is Ruthie? Does she have a cell phone? Have you tried to reach her?” Landers questioned.
Grant stepped forward. “She’s fifteen. I …
um … I just got back to the house. I … uh …
I’ll call her now.” He quickly dialed Ruthie’s number and waited, hoping for an answer, hoping that this was all some crazy misunderstanding.
When the phone went to voicemail he pleaded, “Ruthie, call me back as soon as you get this. Please. Call me.” He looked up, defeat in his eyes.
Charlotte’s heart raced faster. Was Ruthie with Emma? Did she do this? Or was she in trouble too?
“Ms. Gray, Mr. Ellington, we’ll look into every angle,” Officer Landers reassured them, though his eyes betrayed the seriousness of the situation. Once the final note was taken, Office Rodriguez stepped outside, speaking quietly into his radio.
Within minutes, the piercing tone of an alarm cut through the silence, followed by the stern announcement of an Amber Alert. The names of the missing girls, Emma and Ruthie, echoed through the radio.
Charlotte leaned against the doorframe, the cold wood grounding her as she listened to the alert repeat itself, a mantra for the safe return of the children.
The nursery, once a sanctuary of lullabies and laughter, stood as a haunting testament to Emma’s absence, and to the uncertainty that lay ahead.
Her heart throbbed with a silent plea to the heavens, begging for Emma’s return, her giggles to fill the void of silence.
She murmured a prayer under her breath—not just for Emma, but for Ruthie, too.
Despite everything, she hoped for Ruthie’s safety, yet a flame of vengeance flickered within her, fueled by betrayal.
“When I get my hands on you, Maddie,” she whispered, the words a venomous promise, “it’ll be the last time. ”
The room was suffocating, the walls closing in. She whirled around to face Grant, who stood motionless, his figure casting a long shadow across the pastel carpet. His eyes, once warm pools of support, now seemed like distant stars—cold and unreachable.
“Grant.” She spat out his name as though it were poison.
“This is your fault.” The accusation hung in the air, an invisible barrier that stretched taut between them.
“If you hadn’t been such a pushover, bending to Maddie’s every whim, our little girl would be here right now.
” Each word was a dagger, sharpened by fear and honed by anger.
“She’d be asleep in her crib, safe and sound, not … not out there!”
Grant’s face was a mask of stoicism, unreadable, but Charlotte saw the flicker—a brief flash of pain.
He looked as though he might speak, might defend himself, but no words came.
The silence screamed louder than any argument, any plea for understanding.
It was a chasm widening with each passing second, filled with unspoken recriminations and the heavy weight of a father’s guilt.
“Find her, Grant,” Charlotte hissed through gritted teeth, her eyes blazing with a desperate intensity. “Do whatever it takes. Because if we don’t …” She left the threat hanging, unfinished, but its meaning was clear.
Before he could respond, Officer Landers approached, leading two men into the nursery.
“Ms. Gray, this is the forensics team. They’re going to need to look around. Perhaps you and Mr. Ellington could come downstairs with me and provide some pictures of the two girls that we can distribute to aid in the search.”
“Of course,” Charlotte responded, already looking through her phone for some recent pictures of Emma.
As they descended the stairs, Charlotte pulled Grant back. “Grant,” she said, voice tight as a violin string, “you need to call Maddie now.”
Grant, his face lined with worry, nodded solemnly. He was a man who prided himself on his ability to act under pressure, but the weight of the situation seemed to bow his shoulders just slightly. He dialed Maddie’s number.
“Come on, Maddie,” Charlotte whispered to herself, watching Grant’s face for any sign of connection, any hint of good news. But the creases in his brow deepened, and her heart sank an inch farther in her chest.
“She didn’t pick up,” he said, his voice strained. The lines around his eyes had deepened, and Charlotte felt a fresh wave of panic surge through her.
“Maybe she saw your number and just won’t answer?” she asked, her voice cracking. “Is there a landline at the house?”
“There was, but I had it disconnected when we bought this place. I’d already given her enough.”
As Grant hung up, a knock came from the front door, and then two detectives entered, their faces a mix of professional detachment and human concern.
One of them, a woman with sharp features softened by sympathetic eyes, cleared her throat.
“I’m Detective Rawlings,” she said. “My partner, Detective Patal. We’re doing everything possible to find the children.
I know forensics are here now and should be finished shortly,” she announced, her gaze sweeping the hall that led to the nursery.
“But we’re going to ask that you stay out of the nursery for a bit longer.
We have some things to wrap up in there. ”
Charlotte nodded, feeling a cold draft snake its way through the open doorway. “Understood,” she replied, her voice hollow. She turned back to Grant, searching for solace in his familiar green eyes. But all she found was a reflection of her own dread.
“Never again,” she whispered to the empty hallway. “Emma will never sleep in that room again.” The resolve in her voice was fragile, but it was all she had left—a mother’s vow etched into the very marrow of her bones.
Minutes stretched out, each one heavier than the last, until finally, Charlotte had a thought.
“Adler,” she murmured, a sliver of hope threading through the dread. “Adler was with her, right? He must know where Maddie took Emma.”
Grant’s face paled, the grim news delivered without need for words. And yet he spoke, his voice low and tight with worry. “He wasn’t with her. He is spending the weekend with his friend William. They’ve been planning the sleepover for weeks.”
“Sleepover?” The word felt foreign, trivial in the gravity of their situation.
A mother’s intuition, once a gentle whisper, now screamed in alarm.
Charlotte’s fingers curled into fists, the air in the room growing thick with suspicion.
Her mind raced, piecing together the chilling puzzle.
“Grant, this can’t be a coincidence,” she said, her voice a mix of fear and certainty.
“Both girls disappear and Adler is out of the house on the same night? And now Maddie isn’t answering? ”
Grant’s jaw clenched, his own fears mirrored in Charlotte’s eyes. He nodded slowly, the gravity of her words pulling him toward action. He pulled out his cell phone and frantically dialed Adler’s number. After a beat, he shook his head. “He didn’t pick up.”
“Officer!” Charlotte called out, her voice cutting through the low hum of conversation. The two uniformed figures turned toward her.
“Please, you need to listen. My stepson Adler—is at a friend’s house close to where Maddie lives. Maybe Ruthie is with her brother. Grant tried calling him, but all he got was his voicemail,” Charlotte explained, urgency sharpening her words.
The officers exchanged a glance, their training kicking in as they processed the new information. Detective Rawlings stepped forward.
“I’ll need the friend’s address. I’ll have dispatch send a car over immediately,” she said, then used her cell phone to call this new information in.
“His friend’s house,” Grant interjected, his voice steady despite the turmoil churning inside him. “He spent the night with his friend William.” Grant gave Detective Rawlings William’s address.
“Copy that,” the dispatcher’s voice crackled back. “Amber Alert will be updated immediately.”
“Thank you,” she said to the officers, her gratitude edged with determination.
Charlotte paced the length of the kitchen, her footsteps echoing against the hardwood floors like a metronome counting down the seconds.
Each tick of the clock overhead was a reminder of Emma’s absence and a prick to Charlotte’s already frayed nerves.
She stared out the window above the farmhouse sink she’d loved so much, the night outside as dark as the dread pooling in her stomach.
“Please,” she whispered to no one, her breath fogging up the glass, “let her be safe.”
The thought of Emma, lost and alone, clawed at her insides. If only Grant had been more responsible, more present. But he hadn’t been—he’d left their daughter with Ruthie, who was barely more than a child herself. The negligence gnawed at Charlotte’s conscience; how could she ever trust him again?
She turned from the window, resolute. “It’s over,” Charlotte promised into the silence, her voice steadier than she felt. “I will divorce Grant.” It wasn’t spoken in anger or haste, but with the clarity of a vow made upon the altar of her child’s well-being.
Images of Ruthie—angry and rebellious, but also young and confused—invaded her thoughts.
How could Grant have justified such recklessness?
Entrusting their precious Emma to someone so unprepared?
The betrayal stung, not just for its immediate danger, but for what it revealed about the man she had married.
A man who, when faced with the responsibility of safeguarding their most cherished treasure, had faltered.
He knew she didn’t want Ruthie alone with the baby.
How many times had Ruthie told her she hated her and hated her baby half-sister? More than she could count.
“Never again,” Charlotte murmured. Emma needed protection, the kind that wouldn’t falter when faced with convenience. She needed a fortress, not the flimsy walls Grant had offered.
No matter the outcome, her path forward was set. Emma would always come first, and if that meant severing the tie that bound her to a man she could no longer trust, then so be it.
She paused, fingertips brushing against the cold glass of the window, and gazed outward at the sprawling lawn.
She’d wanted enough land to plant a garden.
She’d told Grant this after Emma was born.
There was unlimited space for her project; they just hadn’t been in the house long enough to settle in, let alone plant a garden.
“Emma,” she whispered, as if the word were a talisman against the uncertainty gnawing at her resolve. Protection was more than just a mother’s wish; it was her responsibility to her child.
Charlotte envisioned herself with Emma in her New York apartment.
The image of an older Emma, laughing and unburdened, played across Charlotte’s mind. It was that vision—that singular, unwavering purpose—that fueled her conviction. She’d wrap her child in layers of love and vigilance, a cocoon impervious to Grant’s failings.
Turning away from the window, Charlotte allowed herself a breath, shallow and quivering, yet laced with an ironclad intent.
Emma would be safe. She would make sure of it, whatever the cost. And in the heart of the city, amidst the steel and stone, they would find their refuge, their fortress of solitude.