SEVENTY-FOURMILLIE
My daughter killed a man.
My eleven-year-old daughter stabbed a man, and now he’s dead. And after I hear the whole story, I wish she hadn’t killed him, so I could do it with my bare hands.
Because I would have really made him suffer.
“I’m sorry, Mom.” She’s crying so hard, it’s difficult for her to talk. “I didn’t want to do it. I just had to get out of that room.”
I’m not angry at her. She doesn’t owe me any apology. I feel sick at the thought of what was happening right under my nose. I was the one who sent Nico over there to do chores. In my defense, it seemed harmless at the time—a good way for him to take responsibility for breaking their window. I could never have imagined…
“This is not your fault, Ada.” I wrap my arms around her skinny body. “You did what you had to do. I… I would’ve done the same.”
That is an understatement.
“Where’s the shirt you were wearing?” I ask her. “The one with the blood on it?”
She wipes her eyes and crosses the room to get to her pink dresser. She rifles around for a moment until she pulls out the navy-blue shirt she’d been wearing that day and hands it over to me. If I squint, I can just barely see the stain, but I can see how the police would have missed it. They weren’t expecting to find anything incriminating in a little girl’s drawer of shirts.
“I washed it really well in the sink,” she says, although if the police had found it, they would have easily identified Jonathan’s blood.
I clutch the shirt in my hand, not sure what to do with it. Could I really turn my own daughter in for murder?
“I don’t want to go to jail,” she sniffles. “But I don’t want Dad to get in trouble when I was the one who did it.”
Enzo knew. He figured out Ada must have been the one who stabbed Jonathan after he discovered that the knife he gave her was the murder weapon. That’s why he was so quick to take the blame. I hate him for doing that. But also, I love him more than I have ever loved him before.
“You are not going to jail,” I assure her. “I promise you. We are going to call Dad’s lawyer, and she is going to straighten everything out. I swear.”
I’ve got to call Cecelia. I’ve got to tell her everything before Enzo does anything else stupid like confessing to murder to protect his daughter.
I don’t want Ada to hear this call, but I also don’t want to leave her alone when she is so fragile. As much as I have reassured her that she didn’t do anything wrong, she is still inconsolable. I need to keep a close eye on her, so I step right outside her bedroom door, keeping the door cracked open so I can see her as I click on Cecelia’s number.
Thankfully, she answers right away. “Millie? Everything okay? I just got to the police station.”
“Yeah,” I breathe, “but I heard some extremely interesting information.”
I tell her everything as quickly as I can. She is mostly silent for the entire story, although a few times, I hear her quick intake of air. It’s hard to repeat the details Ada shared with me. Honestly, it makes me sick to my stomach. I’m relieved when I’ve told her what I need to and I can stop talking.
“Jesus,” Cecelia breathes, “that’s…”
“I know.”
“Damn it, Enzo,” she mutters to herself. “He better not have said anything to the police without me. I’ve got to get in there as quickly as I can and set things straight.”
“He needs to hear everything,” I say. “If he thinks there’s a chance Ada might get punished for this, he is going to want to take the fall. He has to know that it was self-defense. She didn’t do anything wrong.”
“And she’s eleven,” Cecelia reminds me. “No court would prosecute a child that age as an adult. Enzo is throwing himself on his sword for nothing.”
“Please, Cecelia, don’t let him do anything stupid.”
“Don’t worry, Millie,” Cecelia says. “I’m incredibly convincing.”
I let her go so she can do her thing, and then I am left alone with my children. And I have a pretty big job to do to make things right again.
I don’t know exactly what was going on inside that room at the Lowells’ house. If Jonathan laid a finger on my son, I will… Well, I guess I can’t kill him anymore, but I will set fire to his grave or… I’ll travel to the afterlife and wreak vengeance upon him. I can’t believe Nico was going to that house for months because he was so scared of us having to pay for some broken toys. It breaks my heart.
After all this is over, the whole family is going to need therapy. That man did a terrible thing to us, and I am determined to get my husband out of jail so we can help the kids start healing again.
SEVENTY-FIVE
Enzo is currently at the police station in a holding cell. He has been booked and fingerprinted and had mug shots taken, according to Cecelia. There will be a bail hearing tomorrow, but there’s no way we can afford any amount of bail.
I’m desperate to know how he’s doing, but all I can get are updates from Cecelia. I keep the kids home from school—I have taken so many personal days now that my coworkers must be furious with me—and I spend a lot of time talking to them about everything that happened. I knew something was going on with Nico, but somehow this went under my radar. I thought there was something wrong with his brain and that it was all because of my faulty genes, but in reality, it was all Jonathan Lowell’s fault.
“Will Dad come home soon?” Nico asks me hopefully as we eat dinner together. I’ve made macaroni with butter on it. I didn’t even have the bandwidth to add cheese.
“I hope so” is my honest answer.
“But he didn’t do anything wrong,” Ada says in a tiny voice. “Why does he have to be in jail?”
“Because you can’t just tell the police you didn’t do it and they let you go,” I explain to them. “But don’t worry, because he has an amazing lawyer. He’ll be home soon.”
If I tell myself that enough times, maybe it will come true.
After dinner, I pop some popcorn in the microwave. Miraculously, I manage not to burn it like last time, and I get the kids set up on the sofa watching cartoons and eating microwaved popcorn. Right after I turn on a movie, my phone rings.
The number comes from the local police station.
