Chapter 2 - The Stolen Key
I waited in the nursery for three agonizing hours until the house finally went quiet.
Linda had retreated to the guest bedroom, loudly slamming the door to show her displeasure.
Ryan had knocked on the nursery door once, but I absolutely refused to answer.
I heard him sigh heavily before walking down the hall to our master bedroom.
When I was entirely certain they were both asleep, I crept out into the dark hallway.
My bare feet made no sound on the hardwood floor as I approached our bedroom.
I pushed the door open, wincing as the hinges let out a faint squeak.
Ryan was snoring softly on the bed, his back turned entirely toward the door.
His pants were tossed carelessly across the laundry hamper near the closet.
I held my breath and carefully slid my hand into his front pocket.
My fingers brushed against the cold metal of his heavy keychain.
I slowly pulled the keys out, wrapping my hand tightly around them so they would not jingle.
I slipped out of the room and tiptoed back down the stairs to the living room.
The mahogany desk sat in the corner, illuminated only by the pale moonlight shining through the window.
I knelt in front of the bottom drawer and inserted the small brass key into the lock.
It turned with a satisfying, metallic click.
I pulled the heavy drawer open, my hands shaking uncontrollably.
Inside was a thick, dusty manila folder resting directly on top of a small wooden urn.
I stared at the urn in absolute horror, realizing it was meant for human ashes.
I grabbed the folder and opened it flat on the rug.
The first document was a birth certificate for a baby boy named Ethan James.
The father was listed as Ryan James, but the mother’s name was blacked out with a heavy marker.
The birth date showed that Ethan had been born exactly five years ago.
I flipped to the next page and felt all the air completely leave my lungs.
It was an official autopsy report from the county medical examiner.
The report stated that three-month-old Ethan had died from intentional suffocation caused by liquid aspiration.
Someone had intentionally drowned Ryan’s first son in a bathtub.
A handwritten note from a police detective was stapled securely to the back of the file.
The note read that Linda was the sole suspect, but Ryan had provided her with a flawless false alibi.
Before I could even process the horrific truth, the living room lights suddenly clicked on.
May you like
I spun around to see Ryan standing at the bottom of the stairs, holding a heavy metal flashlight.
“I told you never to open that drawer, Sarah,” he whispered coldly.
