I thought my life was perfect. I met William at the library. We married. We had Emma. He was the ideal father—loving, attentive, always tired from work.
But then Emma changed. She stopped wearing her sparkly skirts. She barely touched her food. She started drawing—dark pictures.
At first, I thought it was a phase. But then the teacher called. She showed me Emma’s drawings. Crooked houses engulfed in red flames. Shadows with long arms. Eyes staring from corners. One showed a bed with “EMMA” written across the blanket—and a looming figure above it.
I was shaken. I asked Emma about it. She said, “That’s not a person.” I pressed her. “Then who is it?” She whispered, “I found Daddy’s secret.”
I confronted William. He denied everything. But I couldn’t shake Emma’s words. I waited until he left for work, then dug in the yard. I found a box. Inside, a phone. I unlocked it. There were videos—of William, not as a father, but as a man with another life.
I called the police. William was arrested. The truth came out. Emma had seen things no child should.
She saved us.
