The Perfect Husband's Darkest Secret novel · Chapter 3 of 24

Chapter 3: Welfare Check

Officers arrive at the lake house with Dalton and a weeping Camille, Emme shows them a happy child, and the officer reads out her weekly prescription.

Ansel drove us to the lake house in half the time it should have taken.

Two police cars waited at the end of his gravel drive.

Poppy stood on the porch in her pajama top and rain boots, a fork in one hand and syrup on her chin.

The neighbor who had been watching her held her shoulders and looked scared.

I was out of the truck before it stopped.

"Mommy!" Poppy yelled. "These men want to see my room!"

"Then we'll show them," I said, and I picked her up.

My voice came out steady, and I was proud of that.

"Mrs. Reeve?" the older officer said. "We have an emergency order for a child welfare check. We won't take long."

"Take as long as you need," I said. "Come in."

Behind us, tires crunched on the gravel.

Dalton's black car stopped by the mailbox.

He got out of the driver's seat.

Camille got out of the passenger side with a tissue pressed to her nose.

My sister wore a soft cream sweater and no makeup, and her eyes were pink and wet.

She looked exactly like the sister who had held my hand at our father's funeral.

"Em," she said, and her voice shook. "Oh, Em."

I held Poppy tighter.

"You shouldn't be here," I said.

"I'm only worried," Camille said. "We all are. Dalton hasn't slept in two days."

"He flew in this morning."

"He hasn't slept in two days," she said again, gently, as if I were the confused one.

Both officers glanced at me.

I understood then that the whole scene had been written for them.

The caring husband.

The weeping aunt.

The wife who wandered off with a child and would not explain.

I smiled at the officers and carried Poppy inside.

They walked through every room.

The kitchen had eggs and berries and a stack of pancakes.

The refrigerator was full.

Poppy's bed had her own quilt, folded, with the otter propped on the pillow.

The younger officer opened the bathroom cabinet and found children's toothpaste and one bottle of vitamins.

"Is she eating well?" he asked.

"Three pancakes," Poppy announced. "I counted."

Ansel leaned against the doorframe with his arms crossed and said nothing.

The older officer almost smiled.

"This looks like a happy kid, ma'am," he said quietly.

Camille stepped close while the officers wrote in their notebooks and touched my sleeve.

"I forgive you for leaving, Em," she whispered. "Whatever you think you saw."

Her fingers were cold and dry.

I did not pull away.

I let her feel how steady my arm was.

Dalton stood in the hall with his hands folded and his head bowed.

"How did you find us?" I asked him.

"I would never spy on my own wife," he said.

Poppy looked up from my shoulder and held up the otter.

"Daddy sewed his tummy," she said.

Everyone stopped.

"He said it's so I can never get lost."

I took the otter from her and turned it over.

The belly seam was a different color of thread, newer and tighter than the rest.

I pressed my thumb into it and felt something small and hard.

I looked at Dalton.

He looked at the wall.

"A tracker," the older officer said.

"It's a child-safety device," Dalton said smoothly. "Half the parents at her school use them. I would have told Emme, but she has been so fragile."

"You put a tracker in your daughter's toy and said nothing to your wife," the older officer said.

"I put it there because I love her."

Camille slid her arm through his and pressed her cheek to his sleeve.

"He was only trying to protect Poppy from her," she said, very softly.

Then she realized I could hear her.

She did not look sorry.

I handed the otter to Poppy and kissed her head.

"Go find your crayons, baby. I'll be right here."

Ansel took her by the hand and led her out of the room without a word.

I turned back to the officers.

"I have never hurt my daughter," I said. "Ask her. Ask anyone."

"Ma'am, we believe you," the older officer said. "The house is fine."

I felt the first piece of air return to my lungs.

"But the order isn't only about the house."

He took a folded paper from his jacket and opened it.

"It includes a pharmacy record. A sedative, filled every week since March, in your name."

He looked up at me.

"Are you taking it, Mrs. Reeve?"

"I have never taken a sedative in my life," I said.

"The pharmacy says you pick it up yourself," the officer said. "Every Friday. And that you sign for it."

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