CHAPTER 2 – THE PERFECT HUSBAND'S MASK
I didn't reach for the gun because I wanted revenge.
I reached for it because I finally understood fear.
Not my fear.
Emma's.
The kind that had lived inside her long enough to become normal.
I locked the front door and drew every curtain before helping her onto the couch. My wife, Margaret, rushed downstairs wrapped in a robe. The moment she saw Emma's face, she stopped breathing.
"Oh, sweetheart..."
Emma collapsed into her mother's arms.
For several minutes, nobody spoke.
Outside, Beckett's SUV never moved.
He simply waited.
Like a man who believed he would eventually get back what belonged to him.
Then Emma whispered something I will never forget.
"He likes making me choose."
I looked at her.
"What do you mean?"
She stared at the fireplace without blinking.
"He says every punishment is my decision. If I apologize, he locks me in the basement. If I don't apologize, he throws me outside. Then he tells me I picked the punishment myself."
The room became painfully quiet.
Margaret covered her mouth.
I felt something inside my chest crack.
Three years.
Three years of Sunday dinners.
Three years of holiday photographs.
Three years of shaking Beckett's hand while he called me "Dad."
Every bruise Emma had explained away.
Every canceled visit.
Every nervous smile.
Suddenly they all fit together.
Then Beckett texted me.
You're making a mistake. She needs medical treatment. She's been hallucinating again.
Emma saw the message and immediately shook her head.
"I never hallucinated."
Another message appeared.
Ask her about Cedar Ridge Clinic.
Emma's face drained of color.
"He had me committed."
"What?"
"For seventy-two hours."
She began crying again.
"He told the doctors I was paranoid... that I imagined things... that I hit myself during panic attacks."
Margaret gasped.
"He convinced everyone."
Emma nodded.
"He always convinces everyone."
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That was the moment I stopped wondering whether my daughter was telling the truth.
I started wondering how many others had believed Beckett instead.
