Chapter 3 - The Wife's Secret
My eyes burned with a searing, blinding pain as the toxic gas rapidly filled the bedroom.
I scooped Lily into my arms, pressing her face tightly into my chest to protect her small lungs from the smoke.
The little girl in the wall let out a terrified, echoing scream and vanished instantly back into the dark ductwork.
I grabbed my heavy wooden desk chair and smashed it repeatedly against the locked bedroom door with all my strength.
On the third brutal strike, the door frame splintered, and I kicked the heavy wood open.
I stumbled out into the hallway, coughing violently as I carried Lily toward the main staircase.
Sarah was standing calmly at the bottom of the stairs, holding a heavy iron fireplace poker in her right hand.
Her face was pale, and her eyes were wide with a frantic, desperate energy I had never seen before.
"Ryan, you were never supposed to find her down there!" Sarah screamed over the deafening sound of the smoke alarms.
"Who threw that gas canister through my daughter's window?" I choked out, handing a coughing Lily over to her.
"They finally found us, Ryan, and we have to leave this house right now," Sarah cried, completely ignoring my frantic question.
She grabbed my arm aggressively and dragged me toward the kitchen door leading out to the garage.
"I am absolutely not leaving without that little girl hiding in the wall!" I yelled, yanking my arm away from her grip.
Sarah slammed her hands against my chest, tears suddenly streaming down her flawless face.
"That little girl is the exact reason they are coming to kill us tonight," she sobbed hysterically.
I stared at the beautiful woman I had been married to for five years, realizing I did not know her at all.
"She looked right at me and called me Daddy, Sarah," I said, my voice trembling with unprecedented rage.
"Who is she, and why is she living inside my house?"
Sarah looked down at the hardwood floor, her breathing ragged and incredibly uneven.
"She is your biological daughter, Ryan," Sarah finally confessed into the smoky air.
My mind instantly flashed back to my first fiancée, Chloe, who died tragically in a fiery car crash six years ago.
Chloe had been seven months pregnant with our child when she was taken from me.
"Chloe's baby did not die in that burning car," Sarah whispered, accurately reading the devastating shock on my face.
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Suddenly, the heavy oak front door of our house was violently kicked completely off its reinforced hinges.
Four men dressed in full black tactical gear stepped into our bright foyer, aiming assault rifles directly at our heads.
