Chapter 3 - WHAT EMILY WAS AFRAID TO SAY
At St. Vincent’s, they treated Emily for dehydration, mild malnutrition, and exhaustion. She had bruising on her wrists, insect bites on her legs, and a healing cut near one knee that no one had bothered to clean properly. When the pediatric nurse asked if anything hurt, Emily looked at the floor before answering, as if pain itself required permission.
I sat beside her bed while doctors came and went.
I kept replaying the last six months in my head, each memory turning uglier under better light. Emily asking if she could stay one more night at my place. Emily flinching whenever Jason’s name came up. Emily growing quiet whenever I asked how things were at her mother’s house. I had seen all of it.
I just hadn’t wanted to believe what it meant.
Detective Bennett returned once Emily had fluids running and a blanket wrapped around her shoulders. A child advocate came with her, a woman named Trina who wore soft sneakers and spoke to Emily like a person rather than a witness.
“Emily,” Trina said gently, “do you know where your mommy is?”
Emily’s fingers tightened around the blanket.
“She was in the kitchen.”
“When?”
“The day before yesterday.”
“Did you see Jason?”
Emily nodded.
“What happened?”
At first she said nothing. Then, so quietly I nearly missed it, she whispered, “They were fighting about the pool.”
Detective Bennett and I looked at each other.
Trina kept her voice even. “What about the pool?”
“Mom said no. Jason got mad. Mommy tried to stop him.”
“Stop him from doing what?”
Emily’s breathing changed. Her eyes filled. I thought she was going to shut down completely.
Then she said, “He was putting the bags in.”
The room went cold.
“Did you see what was inside the bags?” Trina asked.
Emily shook her head hard. “No. No. He said if I looked, I’d be next.”
My hands curled so tightly around the arms of the chair my knuckles hurt.
“Did your mom say anything else?” Bennett asked.
Emily stared at the blanket again.
“She told me,” she whispered, “if Daddy came, I should tell him to find the truth before Jason did.”
It was the strangest sentence I had ever heard from my daughter.
Before I could ask what it meant, the social worker entered and said Child Protective Services had been notified, emergency protective protocols were starting, and Sarah was officially listed as a missing person.
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Jason, meanwhile, had turned off his phone.
And the dive team had just begun pulling the first black bag from the pool.
