Chapter 3 - The Ghost in the House
The morning light broke through the curtains of the security room,
but I felt no warmth.
I had spent the entire night watching my life unfold like a horror movie.
I knew every move Patricia was going to make before she made it.
I watched her wake up in our bed,
stretching like she owned the world.
She checked her phone,
likely looking for a message from me about my "arrival" in Europe.
I sent her a text,
my fingers steady despite the rage in my veins.
"Just landed,
long flight,
miss you already,"
I wrote.
I watched her read it on the screen.
She didn't smile;
she rolled her eyes and tossed the phone aside.
She then went to the mirror,
painting on the face of the mourning fiancée.
I left the security room and entered the house through the basement tunnels.
These were old passages used for maintenance,
invisible to anyone who didn't know the blueprints.
I moved quietly,
like a ghost in my own halls.
I reached a service crawlspace that looked into the dining room.
I could hear their voices now,
unfiltered by microphones and speakers.
"Eat your breakfast and shut up,"
Patricia snapped at Martina.
The sound of a spoon hitting the floor echoed through the house.
"I'm sorry,"
Martina whispered.
"Sorry doesn't fix the mess you make,"
Patricia hissed.
I saw her hand reach out and pinch Martina’s ear,
twisting it until the little girl let out a whimper.
I had to bite my tongue to keep from screaming out.
Not yet,
I told myself.
If I stopped her now,
she would find a way to lie out of it.
I needed her to commit the final act,
the one she had been planning all night.
I watched through the slats as Rosa entered the room.
"I will take over,
Miss Patricia,"
Rosa said,
her voice trembling but firm.
"You do that,"
Patricia said,
standing up.
"And make sure you check your pockets today,
Rosa,
you seem a bit...
forgetful lately."
The malice in her voice was unmistakable.
She was going to "find" the watch she had planted.
Patricia walked out of the room,
and I followed her from within the walls.
She went to the kitchen,
where she had hidden my father's watch in Rosa’s coat.
She reached in,
ensuring it was still there,
then pulled out her phone.
She dialed a number.
I listened,
my ear pressed against the cold stone.
"Yes,
officer,
I'd like to report a theft,"
she said,
her voice suddenly fragile and tearful.
"Our housekeeper...
I think she's been stealing from my fiancé while he's away."
The sheer audacity of her performance was staggering.
She was calling the police on an innocent woman to cover her own tracks.
She gave them the address and told them to hurry.
"The girls are scared,"
she lied,
wiping away a non-existent tear.
She hung up and a smirk spread across her face.
She began to hum a tune,
a happy little melody as she walked back toward the living room.
I realized she was going to stage a scene where she "discovered" the watch in front of the police.
It was the perfect plan to get rid of Rosa forever.
I felt a surge of adrenaline.
The time for watching was almost over.
I made my way toward the main library,
which had a heavy oak door that led directly to the foyer.
I stood behind that door,
listening to the heartbeat of my home.
I heard the distant sound of a police siren,
faint but approaching.
Patricia heard it too.
She called out for Rosa and the girls to come to the front hall.
"There's something we need to settle,"
she shouted,
her voice full of fake authority.
I could hear my daughters' footsteps,
slow and hesitant.
I could hear Rosa’s steady pace,
the walk of a woman who had nothing to hide but everything to lose.
The air in the library was still,
waiting for the storm to break.
I gripped the handle of the door,
waiting for the police to knock.
This was the moment the mask would not just slip,
but shatter into a thousand pieces.
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I was ready to reclaim my home.
I was ready to be the father my daughters deserved.
