Chapter 4 - The Notebook Hidden in the Dark
The door to my office opened.
Slowly.
Too slowly.
The person standing on the security camera screen stepped forward, holding Sofia’s pink notebook against their chest.
My heart felt like it stopped.
That notebook was not just a notebook.
It was the last thing I bought for my daughter before she died.
She carried it everywhere.
She filled every page with drawings.
Little houses.
Little families.
Little dreams.
I had searched for that notebook after the funeral.
I searched her bedroom.
Her school bag.
Her closet.
Every place where my daughter had left pieces of herself.
But it was gone.
Everyone told me I must have misplaced it.
Everyone told me grief made people forget things.
I believed them.
Because believing them was easier.
But now it was on my security monitor.
Seven years later.
Inside the office nobody was supposed to enter.
I turned toward Dante.
"Who is that?"
He didn't answer.
"Dante."
His face was pale.
"I need you to listen to me."
I stared at him.
"That is not an answer."
He looked toward the screen again.
"The person in that room knows everything."
My hands tightened.
"Then maybe it's time I know too."
I walked toward the office.
Dante grabbed my arm.
"Don't."
I looked down at his hand.
Then back at him.
"Let go."
"Vincent."
"Let go."
Something in my voice made him release me.
For the first time in seven years, I was not the grieving father who needed protection.
I was the man who needed the truth.
I walked down the hallway.
Every step felt heavier than the last.
The house was silent.
But it was not peaceful.
It was the silence of people waiting for something terrible to happen.
Behind me, I heard Dante following.
"You should have told me," I said.
He stopped.
"I know."
"No."
I turned around.
"You don't know."
My voice cracked.
"You don't know what it feels like to stand beside your child's grave believing you failed her."
Dante looked away.
"You don't know what it feels like to wonder if there was something you could have done."
He swallowed.
"I know I made mistakes."
"Mistakes?"
I laughed bitterly.
"My daughter is dead."
The hallway became quiet.
Then Dante whispered:
"I know."
And for a moment, I saw something different in his face.
Not guilt.
Pain.
Real pain.
But pain did not erase betrayal.
I continued walking.
When I reached the office door, I stopped.
The security monitor showed the room.
Empty.
The person was gone.
My heart started beating faster.
"Where did they go?"
Dante looked at the screen.
"They were here."
I opened the door.
The room was exactly how I left it seven years ago.
The same desk.
The same shelves.
The same photographs.
Except something was different.
The drawer on my desk was open.
I never left it open.
I walked inside.
Slowly.
Carefully.
The smell hit me first.
A familiar smell.
Sofia's old perfume.
My knees almost gave out.
Because I had not smelled that scent in years.
I looked around.
"Someone was here."
Dante stood behind me.
"I know."
I turned toward him.
"How?"
He froze.
Another mistake.
Another small crack.
Another answer hidden inside a question.
"You have been here before."
He looked at the floor.
"Yes."
The anger returned immediately.
"You came into my office?"
"Vincent..."
"After she died?"
He didn't deny it.
"Why?"
His silence made me furious.
"Why did you come into my daughter's room?"
Finally, he answered.
"Because Sofia left something behind."
I stared at him.
"What?"
He looked at the desk.
"Something she wanted me to find."
My chest tightened.
"She trusted you?"
Dante closed his eyes.
"She did."
The answer hurt more than I expected.
Because Sofia trusted him.
And I did too.
But one of us had failed her.
Maybe both of us.
I walked to the desk.
The drawer was open.
Inside were old documents.
Photographs.
A few letters.
And beneath them...
A small recording device.
I picked it up.
Dante immediately stepped forward.
"No."
I looked at him.
"Why?"
His face changed.
Because he knew what it was.
"Because you don't understand."
"Then explain."
He didn't.
I pressed the button.
Static filled the room.
Then a sound.
A voice.
My daughter's voice.
"Dad?"
I froze.
Every part of me stopped.
Sofia.
Alive.
Speaking.
Even though it was only a recording.
"Dad, if you're hearing this, something went wrong."
My eyes filled instantly.
I grabbed the edge of the desk.
The recording continued.
"I don't know who you can trust anymore."
I looked at Dante.
He looked destroyed.
"Sofia..."
Her voice trembled through the speaker.
"I tried to tell you, but everyone kept saying I was wrong."
A pause.
Then:
"Dad, please listen carefully."
The recording became quieter.
"There is someone in our family who helped cover up what happened to me."
My breathing stopped.
Dante looked away.
I felt the entire world shifting.
Because for seven years, I believed Sofia's death was an accident.
But my daughter had known.
She had been afraid.
And she had tried to leave me a message.
The recording continued.
"I found the proof."
A small sound.
Like she was moving something.
"Everything is hidden where nobody would look."
The audio became distorted.
Then her voice returned.
"If anything happens, don't believe the first story they tell you."
The recording ended.
Silence.
Absolute silence.
I looked at Dante.
"Who was she talking about?"
He didn't answer.
I stepped closer.
"Who?"
His eyes were filled with tears.
And then he said something I never expected.
"Me."
I froze.
"What?"
Dante looked at me.
"I was the first person Sofia suspected."
The room spun.
"Why?"
He looked toward the recording device.
"Because she found out I was hiding something."
My hands shook.
"What were you hiding?"
Before he could answer, the office lights suddenly turned off.
The door behind us slammed shut.
Locked.
I grabbed the handle.
Nothing.
"Dante."
He moved toward the door.
"Someone activated the security lock."
"From where?"
He looked at the security panel.
Then his face changed.
"From outside."
My phone vibrated.
A new message.
I looked down.
Unknown number.
One photo.
I opened it.
It was a picture of Dante.
Taken just moments earlier.
Standing inside my office.
The message below it was only five words.
"Ask him about December 17."
I slowly turned toward my brother.
"Dante."
He looked at me.
And then the old security monitor turned back on.
A live camera feed appeared.
Not from my office.
From Sofia's old bedroom.
The camera moved.
Slowly.
Someone was standing beside her bed.
Holding another one of Sofia's belongings.
Then the person stepped closer to the camera.
And I heard a voice through the speaker.
A voice I had not heard in seven years.
"Vincent..."
May you like
My blood ran cold.
Because the voice belonged to someone who was supposed to be buried with my daughter.
