Why My Daughter Fears Her Father Chapter 2

The next morning, I got out of bed and made breakfast just like any other day.

Mark was sitting at the dining table scrolling through the news on his phone. Sophie was strapped into her high chair, keeping her head down as she poked at her oatmeal with a plastic spoon.

"Eat up, sweetie. We don't want to be late for daycare," I said, keeping my voice light and soothing.

Sophie peeked up at me, didn't say a word, and buried her chin closer to her chest.

Mark put his phone face down on the table and frowned at me.

"Sarah, could you try having a little patience with her? If she doesn't want to eat, stop forcing it down her throat."

As he spoke, he reached over to affectionately pat Sophie on the head.

Sophie flinched like a startled deer, violently dodging his hand. Her high chair rattled against the floor.

"Don't touch me!" she shrieked.

The color instantly drained from Mark’s face, leaving behind a dark, ugly scowl.

I quickly walked over and unbuckled Sophie, pulling her tightly into my chest.

"Okay, okay. You don't have to eat it. Mommy will take you to school now."

Sophie squirmed in my arms for a second, but she didn't push me away.

I grabbed my keys and walked out the front door. Mark didn't follow us.

As I pulled out of the driveway, I checked the rearview mirror. He was standing in the doorway, glaring at our car with a deeply unsettling expression.

After dropping Sophie off, I didn't drive to the office.

I drove straight to an electronics store across town and bought the exact audio recorder I had looked up the night before.

It was tiny. It looked just like a black shirt button. You could hide it absolutely anywhere without drawing attention.

When Mark came home from work that evening, he was holding a massive stuffed bear.

"Look what daddy brought you, Sophie!"

Sophie's eyes lit up the second she saw the bear. But she stayed glued to the back of my legs, refusing to step out into the open.

The light in Mark’s eyes died.

He tossed the bear onto the living room sofa and let out a heavy, dramatic sigh.

"Sarah, we need to talk."

He grabbed my elbow and pulled me out onto the back patio.

"I think we need to put Sophie in child therapy. Something is seriously wrong with her head lately."

I let out a cold, mental laugh.

"You think so? I agree that someone in this house needs a psychiatrist, but it certainly isn't Sophie."

Mark’s face shifted.

"What exactly is that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing." I turned around, brushing past his shoulder. "I am exhausted. I am going to take a shower."

Before stepping into the bathroom, I walked into Sophie's room and pressed the tiny, adhesive-backed microphone to the underside of her nightstand.

When I walked out of the bathroom with my hair wrapped in a towel, the living room was empty.

I tiptoed toward Sophie's room. The door was cracked open just an inch.

Mark’s hushed, secretive voice drifted out into the hallway.

"You ignored daddy again today. You broke daddy's heart."

"Do you think just because mommy bought you new toys, you don't need me anymore?"

"Let me tell you a secret, sweetie. Mommy sneaked out of the house today to buy baby clothes for the new little boy. She is getting ready to throw us away."

I could hear the muffled, broken sound of Sophie starting to cry.

"Daddy... I'm scared."

"Don't be scared. Daddy is right here. As long as you listen to me and stay far away from mommy, I will protect you forever."

I stood frozen in the hallway, my blood running cold.

But I didn't kick the door open.

I just stood there in the absolute silence, waiting until his whispering finally stopped.

I knew that after tonight, the rules of the game were completely different.

I finally had a weapon.

It was just one tiny piece of plastic, but it was the start of a war.

I went back to my bedroom, got under the covers, and stared at the dark ceiling until the sun came up.

The next morning, while Mark was in the shower, I slipped into Sophie's room and retrieved the microphone.

I put my earbuds in and hit play.

The audio was crystal clear. It was a complete, undeniable recording of a conversation that would drag him straight to hell.

I saved the file three times. One copy on my phone, one on my laptop, and one uploaded to a secure cloud drive.

Once it was done, I walked into the kitchen and started making pancakes.

The morning sunlight poured through the window, but inside my chest, there was nothing but a cold, pitch-black void.

The war had officially begun.