**Diary Entry**
The day we buried our 15-year-old daughter, Emily, felt like the world had stopped turning. I stood by her grave, barely able to stay upright while people murmured condolences I couldnt hear through the numbness. All I saw was that small white coffin.
After the funeral, my husband, Richard, kept insisting, *”We need to get rid of her things. Keeping them will only make it harder.”* I couldnt fathom how he could say that. Those werent just *things*they were her scent, her favourite jumper, the hair clips she always wore. I resisted for weeks, but eventually, I gave in. One evening, I forced myself into her room for the first time since shed gone.
The moment I opened the door, it was as if time had frozen. The faint trace of her strawberry shampoo lingered in the air. Her schoolbooks were stacked neatly on the desk. I ran my fingers over her belongingsher worn-out copy of *Pride and Prejudice*, the scarf shed knitted last winterholding each one like it might bring her back for just a second.
Then, a folded slip of paper fluttered from one of her notebooks. My hands shook as I recognised her handwriting: *”Mum, if youre reading this, look under the bed. Youll understand.”*
I read it three times, my pulse hammering. What could she have meant? With a deep breath, I knelt and lifted the edge of the bedspreadand what I saw there shattered me.
A worn Tesco bag was tucked beneath. Inside, I found a few exercise books, a little trinket box and Emilys phone. The same phone Richard had claimed was *”lost.”* My stomach twisted.
The phone still had battery. The first thing I checked was her messagesa thread with her best friend, Sophie.
**Messages:**
*Feb 15, 22:17*
**Emily:** I cant take this anymore.
**Sophie:** Whats wrong?
**Emily:** Dad shouted at me again. Said if Mum ever found out, hed make sure we both regretted it.
**Sophie:** Oh my God, thats terrifying. Did he hurt you?
**Emily:** Yeah. Not the first time. I told Mum it was from netball, but Im scared.
**Sophie:** You have to tell someone!
**Emily:** He said hed kill me if I did. When hes angry, I believe him.
The words burned into me. Every message was a knife twisting deeper. Suddenly, the last months made sensehow quiet shed become, how shed flinch when Richard raised his voice.
And then I knew. Emily hadnt just *left us*. Shed been taken by the man Id trusted most.
**Lesson:** The truth doesnt always come gently. Sometimes its a scream from the silence, and by then, its already too late.
