After the funeral of our 15-year-old daughter, my husband kept insisting we should get rid of all her thingsuntil I found a strange note in her room.
The moment we buried our only child, life seemed to freeze. I remember standing by the grave, barely able to stay upright. People murmured condolences, but their words blurred into the background. All I could see was that white coffin.
Afterwards, my husband wouldnt let it go:
*”We need to clear out her things. Keeping them will only make it harder. Theyre just reminders.”*
I couldnt fathom how he could say that. These werent just *things*they were her scent, her touch, her dresses, her stuffed animals. I resisted for weeks, but eventually, I gave in. One evening, I forced myself to step into her room for the first time since the funeral.
The second I opened the door, it was like time had stopped. The air still carried a trace of her perfume. Her schoolbooks lay scattered on the desk, one left open as if shed just stepped away. I picked up each itemher favourite jumper, hair ties, a well-thumbed novelholding them tight, as if clinging to them might bring her back for just a second.
Then, a folded slip of paper fluttered out from between the pages of her maths textbook. My heart lurched.
I unfolded itand instantly recognised her handwriting.
*”Mum, if youre reading this, look under the bed. Youll understand.”*
I read it twice, fingers trembling. My chest tightened. What could she possibly mean?
Gritting my teeth, I knelt down and lifted the edge of the bedskirtand what I saw there horrified me.
With shaking hands, I pulled out an old shoebox. Inside, I found a stack of notebooks, a trinket box, andmost chillinglyher mobile. The same phone my husband had claimed was *”lost.”*
I powered it on, dread coiling in my stomach. The first thing I checked was her messages. There, pinned at the top, was a conversation with her best friend.
**February 15th, 10:17 PM**
**Her:** *I cant take this anymore.*
**10:18 PM**
**Friend:** *Whats wrong?*
**10:19 PM**
**Her:** *Dad screamed at me again. Said if Mum ever found out, hed make sure we both regretted it.*
**10:21 PM**
**Friend:** *Oh my god, youre scaring me Did he hurt you?*
**10:22 PM**
**Her:** *Yeah. Not the first time. I told Mum I got the bruise in PE, but Im scared.*
**10:24 PM**
**Friend:** *You have to tell someone! Your mum, the policethis isnt okay!*
**10:26 PM**
**Her:** *He said hed kill me if I ever told. And I believe him. You dont see him when hes angry.*
**10:28 PM**
**Friend:** *But you cant just live like this*
**10:29 PM**
**Her:** *Im only telling you because I cant tell anyone else. If anything happens to me you know who did it.*
The words burned into me. I read them over and over, each line worse than the last. Suddenly, everything made sensethe way shed flinched at loud noises, how quiet shed become in those last months.
I hadnt wanted to see it then.
But now, I knew.
Our daughter hadnt left us by accident.
Shed been takenby the man I thought I knew best.
