Chapter 2: The Collect Call
The silence in a house after a war is not peaceful. It is heavy.
For the first few weeks after Chloe was arrested, I spent my days reclaiming my home. I ripped up the stark, cold modern rugs she had laid down. I painted over the sterile grey walls she had insisted were "chic," returning them to the warm, buttery yellow Robert and I had chosen decades ago. Every stroke of the roller felt like an exorcism. I was painting over the memory of her disdain, the memory of her footsteps, the memory of her plotting my death.
Dan kept his word. He moved into a tiny, damp room above a laundromat on the bad side of town. He worked his day job at the logistics company, and at night, he unloaded freight trucks. Every Friday evening, exactly at 6:00 PM, an envelope would appear in my mailbox. Inside would be a cashier's check—sometimes for two hundred dollars, sometimes for four hundred.
He never knocked. He never asked to come inside. He simply left the money and walked back to the bus stop in the rain.
I watched him from the window, hidden behind the curtains. My heart ached to see my son—the boy I had raised, the boy who had loved me—looking so defeated, his shoulders hunched against the world. But I knew that rescuing him now would only destroy him. He had to carry this weight. He had to learn the true cost of what he had allowed to happen.
Then, on a rainy Tuesday evening, the telephone rang.
Not my cell phone. The old landline mounted on the kitchen wall, the one I kept only for emergencies.
I wiped my hands on my apron and picked up the receiver.
"Hello?"
An automated voice spoke, cold and mechanical. "You have a collect call from an inmate at the State Correctional Facility. The inmate's name is..."
A brief pause, then a voice that made the blood in my veins turn to ice.
"Chloe."
The automated voice resumed. "To accept this call, press one."
My finger hovered over the keypad. Why was she calling me? She had been denied bail. Her trial was set for the spring. Detective Ellison had assured me she was locked away, unable to hurt anyone else. I should have hung up. Any sane woman would have hung up.
But I remembered the triumphant, venomous look in her eyes as she was led away in handcuffs. The biggest secret in this house isn't mine.
I pressed one.
The line clicked. Background noise echoed—metal doors slamming, distant shouting. Then, her breathing. Smooth, calm, entirely unbothered.
"Hello, Linda," Chloe said. Her voice was like polished glass, just as it had been at the dinner table.
"You are not supposed to contact me," I said, my voice remarkably steady. "I have a restraining order."
"Oh, I know," she laughed softly. "And I'm sure the warden will punish me severely if you report this. But I thought you'd want to hear what I have to say. For Dan's sake."
"Leave my son alone."
"Your son?" She clicked her tongue. "We both know he isn't yours, Linda. We established that. But he is still my husband. The divorce isn't finalized yet. Which means we still share... liabilities."
"He has nothing left for you to take," I said sharply. "You drained him. You almost killed me. You are going to prison for a very long time, Chloe."
"Perhaps," she murmured. "But before I go, I thought it was only fair to tie up loose ends. You see, when I ran that background check on you to find the adoption records, I didn't just stop at the name Maria."
The kitchen seemed to tilt. I gripped the edge of the counter, my knuckles turning white. "What did you do?"
"Maria was a mess," Chloe continued, her tone conversational, as if we were discussing the weather. "An addict. A runaway. But she didn't make that baby by herself. Did you ever wonder who the father was, Linda? Because Dan sure didn't know. And you didn't know."
"Stop it."
"I found him," Chloe whispered, the malice dripping from every syllable. "And I sent him a letter. I told him all about his wealthy, successful son who was stolen from him by an opportunistic aunt. I told him where to find you. I told him how much that big, beautiful house of yours is worth."
My breath caught in my throat.
"He's a very motivated man, Linda," she sneered. "He's been looking for a payday his whole life. Have fun defending your perfect little family now."
May you like
The line went dead.
I stood in the kitchen, listening to the dial tone, feeling the ghost of my sister Maria standing in the shadows. The nightmare wasn't over. Chloe had reached out from behind bars and set a match to the fragile peace I had just begun to rebuild.
