Inside were financial records, photographs, bank statements, and copies of documents Daniel had been collecting for years.
But there was one final item.
A small notebook.
Daniel had written everything down.
Every payment.
Every debt.
Every meeting.
Every plan.
And on one page was a date.
The date he had planned for our deaths.
The date was the night he cooked dinner.
I stared at that page for a long time.
Then I closed the notebook.
Daniel had believed he had planned every detail.
He hadn’t counted on me waking up.
He hadn’t counted on Noah noticing.
He hadn’t counted on the old telephone.
And he certainly hadn’t counted on my father’s hidden documents.
Months later, Daniel stood before a judge.
The evidence from the food, the financial records, the insurance policies, the notebook, and Rebecca’s testimony were presented.
He eventually pleaded guilty to multiple charges.
I never attended every hearing.
I didn’t need to.
I had spent enough time looking at him.
Enough time wondering how someone who slept beside me could secretly plan my death.
I wanted my life back.
Noah wanted his too.
We moved out of the house temporarily and stayed with family while everything was settled.
