Not the smell of something rotten.
Something older.
Damp concrete. Dust. Air that hadn’t moved in years.
I instinctively pulled the girls behind me.
“Stay upstairs,” I said quickly.
But Grace shook her head.
“No, Mommy likes when we visit.”
My stomach twisted.
The basement stairs creaked beneath my feet as I slowly descended into darkness.
A single lamp glowed faintly in the corner.
And then I saw it.
Not a person.
A room.
A fully furnished room.
My breath caught instantly.
There was a bed neatly made with floral blankets.
A bookshelf.
Family photos.
Children’s drawings taped carefully to the walls.
And at the center of it all—
a large framed portrait of Daniel’s late wife, Rebecca.
Candles surrounded the picture like some kind of shrine.
I stared in disbelief.
This wasn’t storage.
This was obsession.
Behind me, little Emily smiled innocently.
“Daddy brings flowers down here every week.”
A chill ran through my entire body.
I stepped further inside slowly.
There were dozens of notebooks stacked neatly beside the bed.
One lay open.
My hands trembled as I picked it up.
At first, I thought it was a journal.
Then I realized what I was reading.
Schedules.
Detailed notes.
About me.
January 12:
She smiled at the girls today. Rebecca would’ve liked that.
February 3:
Grace called her “Mom” by accident. She cried afterward in the bathroom where she thought nobody heard her.
March 18:
Maybe she’s finally ready.
I stopped breathing.
Ready for what?
The girls stood quietly behind me watching my face.
Then Grace pointed toward the far wall.
“Daddy talks to Mommy down here every night.”
I slowly turned.
And that’s when I saw the video camera.
Mounted in the corner.
Facing the chair.
My blood ran cold.
Every instinct screamed at me to grab the girls and run.
Then suddenly—
I heard the front door upstairs slam shut.
Daniel.
Home early.
Heavy footsteps crossed the kitchen overhead.
Then stopped completely.
Silence.
A terrible silence.
“Girls?” he called calmly.
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