Chapter 5 - THE YELLOW FOLDER
Daniel called the police before he called Rachel.
He told the dispatcher what had happened earlier and that she was now at his home.
On the camera, Rachel tried the handle.
He had engaged the interior security latch before leaving.
Her key turned. The door would not open.
She stepped back and called him.
He answered quietly from the hotel bathroom, leaving the door cracked so he could see the children.
“Do not go inside.”
“My things are in there.”
“We’ll arrange a time.”
“I need them tonight.”
“You can collect necessary belongings with someone present.”
“Stop talking to me like I’m dangerous.”
Daniel watched her face on the camera.
“What did you do to my children?”
“I helped you when nobody else would.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
Rachel looked toward the street.
Headlights moved across her coat.
An officer had arrived.
She ended the call.
By morning, Daniel had arranged for a locksmith and asked his friend Marcus to stay with the children in the hotel’s breakfast area while he returned home briefly.
Marcus had worked beside him for nine years.
He didn’t ask for details.
He just said, “Go. I’ve got breakfast.”
At the house, sunlight fell across the exact patch of floor where Lily had been crying.
Daniel stood there longer than he meant to.
Then he walked into the kitchen.
The yellow folder was gone.
For one wild second, he thought Rachel had somehow gotten inside.
Then he found it beneath a grocery bag on the counter, where the responding officer had moved it away from the spilled milk the night before.
Daniel opened it.
There were copies of his pay stubs.
A school calendar.
A typed page headed CAREGIVING NOTES.
March 8: Father returned late. Children upset.
March 12: Father forgot dinner arrangements.
March 18: Father emotionally unavailable.
Daniel remembered March 12.
He had brought home pizza.
All four of them had eaten it at the table.
He turned the page.
There was a printed email discussing a possible temporary caregiving arrangement.
Rachel had written that he was unstable, overwhelmed, and unable to meet the children’s needs.
Attached was a draft statement with a line for Evelyn’s signature.
His phone rang.
It was the elementary school.
“Mr. Bennett? We’re checking an update submitted to Owen’s pickup information.”
“What update?”
“His aunt requested that we contact her first for all concerns.”
Daniel stared at the folder.
“When?”
“Three weeks ago.”
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Behind the school administrator’s voice, he could hear children laughing.
Then she added, “She also told us you’d already agreed.”
