Chapter 3 - The Cold Apartment
Victor drove his seven-year-old sedan through the snow-covered streets of Chicago in absolute silence.
In the back seat, wrapped tightly in Victor’s thick wool coat, sat the little girl. Maya sat beside her, holding her tightly against her chest, her dark eyes staring vacantly out the frosted window.
Victor kept glancing in the rearview mirror, his hands gripping the steering wheel so hard his knuckles turned white. Every time he looked into the mirror, those gray eyes looked back at him—innocent, confused, and filled with a deep, silent caution that no four-year-old child should ever possess.
"What is her name?" Victor asked softly, his voice barely above a whisper.
Maya didn't answer for a long time. Then, without looking up, she whispered, "Lily. Her name is Lily Hope."
"Lily..." Victor repeated, a sob threatening to catch in his throat. "She's beautiful, Maya."
Maya remained silent.
Twenty minutes later, Victor pulled up to a familiar two-story brick building in suburban Chicago—the condominium owned by his mother, where he had lived alone for the last four years since the divorce.
Maya stiffened immediately, her hands tightening around Lily. "No. I'm not going in there. She's in there."
"Evelyn isn't here," Victor said quickly, turning in his seat to look at her. "She moved into a retirement community in Westmont six months ago. The condo is empty except for me. I live here alone, Maya. I swear."
Maya searched his face for any sign of deception. Seeing only desperate sincerity, she slowly nodded.
Victor rushed around the car, opening the door and holding his arms out to help Lily, but the little girl shrank back into Maya’s embrace. Victor felt a sharp pang of pain in his chest, but he immediately stepped back, allowing Maya to carry the child up the concrete stairs.
When Victor unlocked the front door and flipped on the hallway light, the warm air from the furnace rushed over them.
The apartment was exactly as Maya had left it four years ago—the same cream-colored walls, the same worn fabric sofa, the same kitchen dining set. But it was cold, dusty, and smelled of stale coffee and neglected solitude.
Lily gasped softly as her bare feet stepped onto the warm carpet. She looked around the massive room in wide-eyed wonder, as if she had stepped into a fairytale palace.
"I'll... I'll turn on the water heater," Victor said nervously, wiping his hands on his trousers. "I have fresh towels. I'll make some toast and soup. There's a warm blanket in the linen closet."
Maya stood in the center of the living room, holding Lily tightly. She looked at the entry table beside the front door.
Sitting on the lower shelf of that table was a brass key ring.
"Where is it?" Maya asked, her voice flat and ice-cold.
Victor paused, turning around. "Where is what?"
"The envelope," Maya said, her eyes burning into his. "The manila envelope I left right there four years ago. You said Evelyn took it. Where is it?"
May you like
Victor’s face went pale. "I... I don't know, Maya. I never searched her things."
"Find it," Maya said softly, setting Lily down on the plush sofa. "Find it, Victor. Because if you want to know what happened to your daughter for the last four years, the truth is in that envelope."
