Chapter 1: The Broken Vase
“Noah, what did you do?””
The scream came before the boy could even breathe.
Seven-year-old Noah stood frozen beside the shattered antique vase, his bare feet planted on the edge of the Persian rug. Tiny pieces of blue-and-white porcelain glittered around him like ice.
He stared at them.
Then at Vanessa.
Then at his father.
Marcus stopped in the doorway.
For one strange second, nobody moved.
The old clock in the hallway ticked once.
Twice.
Vanessa was the first to break the silence.
“He broke your father’s vase!””
Her voice cracked perfectly on the last word.
Marcus looked at the floor.
The vase had belonged to his father. His mother had kept it in a locked cabinet for nearly forty years before she passed it down to him. It was the one object in the house Marcus never allowed anyone to touch.
His face changed.
“Noah.””
The boy’s chin trembled.
“I didn’t do it.””
Marcus stepped closer.
“Why are you standing beside it?””
“I—I was looking for Buddy.””
Vanessa pressed a hand to her mouth.
“Oh my God, Marcus. He’s lying already.””
Noah looked at her.
“She smashed it herself.””
The room went silent again.
Vanessa's eyes widened.
Then she began crying.
Not quiet tears.
Loud, shaking sobs.
Marcus turned toward her.
“Vanessa—”
“He called me a liar!”” she cried.
“After I tried to stop him!””
Noah backed away.
“I didn't call you a liar. You broke it.””
Marcus’s jaw tightened.
“Enough.””
“I didn’t!””
“Noah.””
“I didn’t!””
Marcus crossed the room in three fast steps.
The slap sounded louder than Noah expected.
His head snapped sideways.
He lost his balance and landed on the rug, one hand pressed against his cheek.
For a moment, he didn't cry.
He just stared at the floor.
Then the tears came.
Vanessa rushed toward Marcus and wrapped both hands around his arm.
“He always lies to you,” she whispered.
Noah’s shoulders shook.
“She smashed it herself.””
Marcus stared down at his son.
The anger in his face suddenly collided with something else.
Doubt.
Only for a second.
Then Vanessa spoke again.
“Marcus, you know how he gets when he wants attention.””
Noah looked up.
“I just wanted Buddy.””
At that exact moment, a quiet scratching sound came from beneath the sofa.
Everyone turned.
Buddy, the old golden retriever, crawled forward slowly.
His fur was covered in dust.
Something black hung from his mouth.
Noah wiped his cheek.
“Buddy?””
The dog dropped the object onto the floor.
A phone.
Marcus stared at it.
Vanessa stopped crying.
Completely.
Her hands fell from his arm.
Marcus bent down.
The phone screen was cracked, but one detail was impossible to miss.
A red recording icon was still blinking.
He picked it up.
“Why is this recording?””
Vanessa swallowed.
“I—I have no idea.””
Marcus looked at her.
For the first time that night, she didn't look like a victim.
She looked afraid.
And when Marcus pressed play, a woman's voice filled the room.
“Come on. Just fall already.””
Noah stopped breathing.
Marcus slowly turned toward Vanessa.
Because he knew that voice.
May you like
It was hers.
And the next sound on the recording was the unmistakable crash of porcelain.
