Chapter 2 - The Digital Vault of Horrors
The screen of the pink iPhone was illuminated, flashing a new text message preview across the lock screen: “Mom, are you bringing the spare car seat over at four?”
Marcus stared at the glowing display, his thumb brushing against the cracked glass protector. The realization hit him with the force of a freight train. His mother hadn't just been snooping; she had been systematically intercepting Chloe’s private communications, monitoring our private family chats, and tracking every movement Chloe made inside her own home.
“You stole her phone,” Marcus said, his voice terrifyingly quiet. It wasn't an accusation anymore; it was an established fact.
“She left it behind! I was just holding it for safekeeping so it wouldn't get lost among the baby gear!” Helen stammered, backing up until her shoulder blade slammed hard against the front door latch. “You’re listening to this hysterical girl and your ungrateful wife! They’re turning you against your own mother!”
“Get out,” Marcus pointed toward the open driveway outside. “And don't ever come back here. If I ever see your face within five miles of my wife or my son, I will personally file restraining orders and hand every piece of security footage in this house directly to the district attorney.”
Helen’s face twisted into an ugly, venomous mask. Realizing her manipulation tactics had completely failed and her game was over, she dropped the innocent-old-lady act entirely. She pointed a shaking, manicured finger directly at my bruised face.
“You think you’ve won?” she hissed, her eyes darting between Marcus and me with pure venom. “That woman doesn't belong in this family! She’s a manipulative liar who wants to isolate you! And that baby isn't even—”
“Shut your mouth,” Marcus roared, stepping forward with such ferocious intensity that Helen flinched and scrambled backward through the door, tumbling down the porch step before catching her balance.
She slammed the front door behind her with a deafening crash that rattled the decorative wreath hanging on the glass.
For a long moment, neither Marcus nor I moved. I exhaled a breath I felt like I’d been holding for an eternity, leaning my back against the wall as the adrenaline began to drain from my muscles, leaving a dull, aching throb in my jaw and split lip.
“Are you okay?” Marcus asked, his voice softening as he looked down at me, his eyes filled with a mixture of profound gratitude and agonizing guilt.
“I’ll live,” I muttered, wiping a smear of blood from my chin with the back of my sleeve. “We need to check the rest of the house, Marcus. If she had access to Chloe’s phone, what else did she tamper with? What else does she know?”
Marcus nodded grimly, adjusting Leo, who had finally quieted down against his chest, tucking his thumb into his mouth and drifting off to sleep. “Let’s go into the study. We need to unlock Chloe’s phone and find out just how deep this goes before she gets back from the pharmacy.”
We walked down the long, carpeted hallway into the home office—a room Chloe had practically lived in during her final trimester, managing household expenses and organizing nursery schedules. The room was neat, smelling faintly of baby powder and lavender candles. But as Marcus placed Chloe’s phone on the wooden desk, a cold unease settled over the room.
He tapped the screen. It required a six-digit passcode.
“Do you know it?” Marcus asked, looking up at me.
“Chloe’s birthday, maybe? Or Leo’s birth date?” I suggested, leaning over the desk.
Marcus punched in Chloe’s birthday. Incorrect. He tried Leo’s birth date in American format, then European format. Incorrect. He tried their wedding anniversary. Incorrect.
“Wait,” I said, frowning as I stared at the phone interface. “Look at the emergency override options. It’s asking for a recovery hint.”
Marcus tapped the prompt. The hint appeared on the screen in plain text: The year we escaped.
We both stared at the words in stunned silence. Neither Chloe nor Marcus had ever mentioned escaping anything. They had met in college, married in a standard suburban ceremony, and lived comfortable, conventional lives. What escape could Chloe possibly be referring to?
“That’s not a date Chloe would ever use,” Marcus murmured, his brow furrowing deeply. “Unless... unless she didn't set this passcode.”
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My blood ran cold. “You mean Helen set it? Or she forced Chloe to change it?”
Before Marcus could answer, the front door clicked open, followed by the soft sound of grocery bags rustling in the foyer. Chloe’s voice drifted down the hallway, calling out cheerfully, “Marcus? I’m back! Did you pick up the extra pacifiers?”
