Chapter 1

My husband, David Johnson, the police chief, worried I was networking for status, so he kept our relationship secret and assigned me to neighborhood patrol.

Then, when our daughter, Emmy Johnson, was kidnapped, I called him for help, but he said coldly, "You used to be a cop, too. Don't you know that filing a false police report is illegal?

"Don't use this as some excuse to go public about us. She's my daughter. If she dies, she dies."

With that, he hung up, cutting me off entirely.

Desperate, I tried calling other stations, but David blocked every single one.

In the end, the kidnappers murdered Emmy, cut her body into pieces, and dumped them in the lake. Her remains floated there for three days before anyone found her.

While planning Emmy's funeral, I saw a post from Claire Evans, David's first love.

[He called in the whole department to find my missing puppy. Day and night searching. What a hero!]

I stared at it for a long time. Then I liked it and commented: [Great. Congrats on your happy family.]

*****

I walked into the morgue and lifted the white sheet.

I couldn't believe the child there was my Emmy.

Her eyes were shut, her face covered in scratches.

Thick stitches ran below her neck where they'd sewn her torn body back together.

I held her cold hand, my tears soaking her fingers.

Three days ago, she was asking me for kisses and hugs. Now she was just a cold body.

My forensic friend said grimly, "A fisherman found a severed child's arm—fingers missing.

"When we pulled the body out, it was in pieces—barely enough left to patch together.

"Her joints were pulled apart, limbs snapped. There were bite marks from a large dog."

I couldn't stop crying at his last words.

I couldn't even imagine it—my little girl, who'd cry over a scraped knee, who loved being held and spoiled. How terrified must she have been?

If David hadn't blocked me, if I'd known sooner, maybe she wouldn't have suffered so much.

The ringtone shattered my delusions. As soon as I picked up, David's angry voice exploded in my ear.

"Are your hands broken or something? What took you so long? And what the hell was that comment on Claire's post?

"Can you stop being jealous for once? Claire just found the dog that's been with her for years. Have a heart.

"Someone as cold as you will ruin our daughter.

"Get over here and apologize to Claire, or Emmy's not going to the amusement park for her birthday. Not until you learn how to behave."

As I listened to David's constant blame, my heart shattered.

Back then, if I ever disobeyed him, he would use Emmy as a threat.

If he didn't want me to work too much, he'd say Emmy needed her mom. So, he stuck me in that dead-end job.

He isolated me from my old network, so when Emmy disappeared, I had no one to call in a favor.

But kids needed their dads, too.

David missed everything—Emmy's birth, her first six years.

He only started caring after seeing neighborhood kids mocking her as a fatherless bastard.

For once, he asked Emmy what she wanted for her birthday.

Emmy gently pressed my hand to David's. "Daddy, I just want you here for my birthday. I want you and Mommy to eat cake with me."

He promised he would.

But on her birthday, Claire called, and he left.

I begged him, "Emmy got straight A's. She's been saving her test paper to show you and hear you say you're proud. Please stay."

But he shoved me aside. "She has a birthday every year. Claire has a fever. I know what matters."

Remembering Emmy crying while eating her cake, I choked up.

But this time, his threats didn't work anymore.

David's words—"She's my daughter, and if she dies, she dies!"—filled me with a suffocating hatred.

I spat with burning resentment, "You have no right to judge me! You don't even deserve to be Emmy's dad!

"David, screw you!"

The phone slipped from my hand as I fell to my knees, hugging Emily's cold body, and wailed in anguish.