Chapter 1 - “DADDY, PLEASE DON’T GO”
Fifteen minutes before I was supposed to leave for the airport, my six-year-old daughter wrapped both arms around my waist and refused to let go.
At first, I thought Matilda was upset because I was traveling again.
She had been four when her mother, Beatrice, died.
For adults, “I’ll be back tomorrow” is attached to a calendar.
For a child who has watched one parent leave a hospital room and never return, tomorrow can feel like a theory.
My suitcase stood beside the door.
The car service was waiting.
6:42 a.m.
My flight to Minneapolis left at 8:15.
“Matilda.”
She squeezed harder.
“Daddy, please don’t go.”
Something in her voice stopped me.
Not sadness.
Fear.
I crouched.
“What happened?”
Her eyes moved toward the kitchen.
My wife, Pamela, was inside making coffee.
Matilda lowered her voice.
“She puts something in my juice when you go away.”
Everything inside me went cold.
“Who?”
“Pamela.”
“What does she put in it?”
“She says vitamins.”
“What happens after?”
“My hands shake.”
She rubbed her palms together.
“My brain goes too fast. I get hot. I get mad. I can’t stop moving.”
My first instinct was to storm into the kitchen.
Then Matilda whispered:
“She records me.”
“What?”
“With her phone.”
“Why?”
Matilda looked ashamed.
“She says she needs videos so you’ll understand I’m sick.”
“Sick how?”
“She says maybe I need a different home.”
My stomach dropped.
Pamela had said similar things.
Matilda is struggling.
Maybe grief is becoming behavioral.
Perhaps we should consider a more structured environment.
I had heard concern.
Now my daughter was hearing abandonment.
“You’re not going anywhere,” I said.
“What if she shows you the videos?”
“No video makes you stop being my daughter.”
Her face crumpled.
Then she whispered:
“There’s a man too.”
“What man?”
“Spencer.”
“Does he come here?”
“Sometimes.”
“What do they talk about?”
She looked toward the kitchen.
“Mommy’s beach house.”
Beatrice’s beach house.
The seven-million-dollar La Jolla property held in trust for Matilda.
“What do they say?”
Matilda frowned, remembering.
“He said they need two more bad videos.”
My heartbeat changed.
“And then?”
“He said you’ll sign when you get scared enough.”
My airport trip no longer existed.
May you like
Someone was trying to frighten me into signing something involving my daughter’s inheritance.
And they were using my six-year-old to do it.
