Once inside, I locked the front door.
The sound of the deadbolt made both girls flinch.
That frightened me more than anything else.
I took them into the kitchen, gave them water, and placed crackers and sliced strawberries on the table.
They stared at the food without touching it until I sat several feet away.
“You can eat,” I assured them.
Lucy grabbed a strawberry.
Lily followed.
Within seconds, they were eating so quickly I began wondering when they’d last had a proper meal.
“Where’s your mommy?” I asked.
Both girls stopped chewing.
Lily looked toward Lucy.
“Is your mommy next door?”
Nothing.
“Your daddy?”
Lucy shook her head.
That was when it hit me that I had no idea who the man and woman next door really were.
I reached toward my phone.
Lily jumped from her chair.
“No!”
I stopped.
“It’s okay.”
“No police,” she said, panic rising in her voice.
“Why not?”
“He said police take bad girls away.”
My stomach twisted.
“Who said that?”
Lily’s eyes filled with tears.
“Him.”
Before I could ask more, a heavy thud came from next door.
Both girls dropped beneath the table.
A moment later, a man’s voice carried faintly through the open window.
“Lily! Lucy!”
The twins started shaking.
I shut the window and pulled the curtain.
“Stay here,” I whispered.
I went to the front room and looked through a narrow gap in the blinds.
The man I’d seen in the driveway stood on his porch.
His expression was different now.
Angry.
He hurried down the steps, looked from side to side, and began searching the yard.
Then he moved toward the curb.
Toward my trash can.
I stepped away from the window.
A minute later, someone pounded three times on my front door.
Lily whimpered from the kitchen.
I forced myself to stay calm and opened the door only a few inches, leaving the chain locked.
The man stared at me.
“Morning,” he said.
“Morning.”
His eyes moved past my shoulder.
“Have you seen two little girls?”
My heart hammered.
I made my face look confused.
“Little girls?”
“Twins. Three years old.”
So he knew exactly who they were.
“No,” I said. “I haven’t.”
His jaw tightened.
“They wandered out of the house.”
“That’s scary.”
“It is.”
Neither of us moved.
Then he smiled, but his eyes stayed cold.
“If you see them, let me know first. Don’t call anyone else. They have… behavioral problems.”
I kept my expression neutral.
“Of course.”
He studied me for a long moment before leaving.
I shut the door and locked it.
When I returned to the kitchen, Lily and Lucy were still under the table.
“You did good,” Lily whispered.
I crouched beside them.
“Sweetheart, I need you to tell me who that man is.”
Lucy pressed her face into her sister’s shoulder.
“Grant.”
“Grant who?”
She shook her head.
“Is Grant your dad?”
“No.”
“Your uncle?”
“No.”
“Does your mommy know you’re here?”
Lily’s face crumpled.
“Mommy can’t come.”
Cold spread through me.
“Why can’t she come?”
The twins looked at each other.
Then Lucy whispered the most terrifying thing I had ever heard.
“Because Grant locked her downstairs.”
For several seconds, I could only stare.
“Grant locked your mommy downstairs?” I repeated.
Lily nodded.
“She told us to be quiet.”
Every instinct told me to call police immediately, but I remembered Lily’s panic when I reached for my phone.
I held my hand out beneath the table.
“Listen to me. Police do not take good girls away for asking for help. Grant lied to you.”
Lily studied me.
“Really?”
“Really.”
I waited until she gave a tiny nod.
Then I stepped into the pantry, leaving the door cracked so I could still see them, and called 911.
I quietly explained that two three-year-old girls from next door were inside my home and claimed their mother had been locked downstairs.
The dispatcher told me to stay inside, lock every door, and not confront Grant.
I had just ended the call when someone struck my front door again.
This time, Grant didn’t knock.
He slammed his fist against it.
“Carla!”
My blood went cold.
I had never told him my name.
“Open the door.”
The girls crawled farther beneath the table.
“How do you know my name?” I called.
He didn’t answer.
See more on the next page