Chapter 7 - Cracks in the Facade
I looked at Becca closely. For the first time since she had entered Scott’s life three years ago, I didn't see the smug, picture-perfect woman who had posed in front of my former home. I saw someone terrified, trapped in the web of lies Scott had spun around her.
“You didn't know?” I asked, keeping my voice flat. “You were there when June came upstairs to ask for an ice pack for a crying toddler. June told me you rolled your eyes and told Scott to get her back downstairs.”
Becca’s face flushed crimson. “Because Scott told me she was supposed to be keeping them quiet! He told me June begged him to let her watch the kids so she could feel useful!”
“And the locked door?”
Becca staggered back half a step, clutching the porch railing. “What locked door?”
“Scott locked the basement door from the kitchen side,” I stated, watching her reaction intently. “Six children under the age of twelve locked in a basement with no exterior exit, while you all drank mimosas upstairs. Did you know about that?”
Becca’s mouth opened, but no sound came out. The color completely drained from her cheeks, leaving her an ashen, ghost-like gray.
“He... he told me the door was sticking,” she whispered, her hands trembling over her belly. “He said the latch was broken so he put the child lock on it so the toddlers wouldn't pull it open from the stairs.”
“It wasn't a child lock, Becca. It was the deadbolt. And my daughter was on the other side of it, terrified that something would happen to those children and she wouldn't be able to get them out.”
Becca pressed a hand to her mouth, tears flooding her eyes. “Oh my God.”
“Scott didn't use that four hundred dollars for party supplies,” I continued relentlessly. “He bought that Italian espresso machine sitting on your counter. The one he showed off to the guests while June was wiping toddler tears in the dark.”
May you like
Becca leaned against the porch pillar, sobbing quietly. “He told me his parents gave him the money for the coffee machine as an early birthday gift. He lies about everything, Holly. Everything.”
“Then you need to decide who you’re protecting, Becca,” I said coldly. “Because tomorrow morning, my lawyer is filing an emergency protective order to suspend his visitation. And Child Protective Services will be knocking on your door before noon.”
