Part 1
He Found His Girlfriend Standing Over His Four Year Old Daughter With A Steaming Iron
Grace Miller was only four years old.
She was curled beneath her blanket with her eyes closed when Rebecca Hale walked to the side of her bed.
There was a steaming iron in Rebecca's hand.
“Still pretending to be asleep?”
Grace didn't move.
The iron slowly lowered.
Closer to the pillow.
Closer to the little girl's face.
It stopped several inches away.
Faint steam drifted through the air.
Then Grace felt the heat.
Her eyes flew open.
She threw both arms over her face and screamed.
“Daddy! Daddy!”
Rebecca immediately pulled the iron backward.
Grace scrambled across the mattress until her small body was pressed against the safety rail.
She couldn't stop crying.
Then something on the pillow became visible.
A small, dark triangular scorch mark.
Only inches from where Grace's head had been resting.
The video didn't show how it got there.
But Rebecca noticed it too.
For a moment, she stared at the mark.
Then at Grace.
“Look at you. Scared of everything.”
Grace's sobs became louder.
She pointed desperately toward the bedroom door.
“I want Daddy!”
Then came the sound Rebecca clearly wasn't expecting.
Footsteps.
Fast.
Heavy.
Coming down the hallway.
Rebecca's expression changed instantly.
A second later, the bedroom door flew open.
Adam Miller rushed inside.
He saw Grace first.
His four-year-old daughter was shaking against the rail with tears covering her face.
Then he saw Rebecca.
And the steaming iron still in her hand.
Finally, his eyes dropped toward the pillow.
The scorch mark.
Adam stopped cold.
“What the hell are you doing near my daughter with that iron?!”
Rebecca went pale.
Her hand began trembling as she lowered the iron.
“Adam, wait. I can explain.”
But Adam didn't touch her.
He didn't grab the iron.
He immediately stepped between Rebecca and his daughter.
Grace remained behind him, still sobbing.
And Adam was suddenly staring at three things he couldn't easily explain away.
A terrified four-year-old.
A still-warm iron.
And a scorch mark beside the place where his daughter's head had been resting.
He hadn't seen the iron touch Grace.
He hadn't seen Rebecca make the mark.
And Grace hadn't yet been able to tell him what happened before he entered the room.
But moments earlier, Rebecca had been mocking the frightened child.
Now she was backing away from Adam and insisting there was an explanation.
Adam didn't move.
Grace stayed safely behind him.
Rebecca stood across the room with the iron lowered beside her, her hand still trembling.
And that small burned mark remained on the pillow between them.
So what was Rebecca about to tell Adam when he demanded to know why she had been standing over his terrified daughter with a steaming iron?
Rebecca swallowed.
“I was ironing her dress.”
Adam looked around the room.
There was no ironing board.
No dress.
No laundry basket.
Nothing except Grace's bed, a small dresser and the iron in Rebecca's hand.
“Where's the dress?”
Rebecca looked toward the hallway.
“Downstairs.”
“Then why is the iron in here?”
“I came to check on her.”
“With it?”
“I forgot I was holding it.”
Adam stared at her.
Then at the pillow.
“And that?”
Rebecca's answer came too quickly.
“She did that.”
Adam didn't understand.
“What?”
“She knocked the iron over earlier.”
Grace's crying changed.
She shook her head violently.
“No!”
Rebecca pointed toward her.
“See? She lies whenever she thinks she's in trouble.”
Adam turned around immediately.
“Grace isn't in trouble.”
The little girl stared at him.
“Do you understand me?”
Grace nodded through tears.
“You're not in trouble.”
Adam slowly sat on the edge of the mattress.
He didn't ask her what happened yet.
He didn't want Rebecca answering for her.
He looked toward the iron.
“Put it down.”
Rebecca hesitated.
“Adam—”
“On the dresser.”
She placed it upright.
“Unplug it.”
Rebecca did.
Adam waited until the cord was out of the wall.
Then he looked at the bedroom door.
“Go downstairs.”
Rebecca's face changed.
“You're seriously kicking me out of the room?”
“Yes.”
“Because a four-year-old got scared?”
“Because my four-year-old is terrified and you're standing beside her bed with something hot enough to burn that pillow.”
“I didn't touch her.”
“I didn't say you did.”
Rebecca folded her arms.
“But that's what you're thinking.”
Adam's voice became quieter.
“Go downstairs.”
She stared at him.
Then left.
Adam closed the door.
He didn't lock it.
He returned to Grace.
The little girl had pulled the blanket against her chest.
“Daddy?”
“I'm here.”
“Is Becca mad?”
“I don't care whether Rebecca is mad.”
Grace looked toward the door.
“Is she coming back?”
“No.”
Adam said it before he knew exactly what the next hour would look like.
But he knew one thing.
Rebecca wasn't being left alone with Grace again.
He picked up the pillow.
The triangular mark was real.
The fabric around it was stiff and slightly discolored.
He put it back down.
Then he noticed something on Grace's bedside table.
A small pink plastic camera.
Grace's grandmother had given it to her for Christmas.
It was a cheap children's camera that recorded short videos.
Grace liked filming stuffed animals.
Adam remembered stepping on it twice.
“Were you making a movie?”
Grace looked at the camera.
Then shook her head.
“Bunny was.”
Adam glanced at the stuffed rabbit propped against the lamp.
