How I Messed Up My Daughter’s Childhood

He suggested they all have dinner sometime soon, maybe when Dad’s out of town.

“I wanted to run,”

Arya said.

“He kept looking at me like… like I was something he wanted to buy.”

I hugged her tight.

“You did great. This is exactly what we needed.”

But Veronica was getting impatient. Sunday night she was irritable and snapping at little things.

She knew I was on to something but couldn’t figure out what. The sedatives in my coffee got stronger.

I was dumping them but acting drowsier, letting her think she was winning. Monday was when everything went sideways.

I came home to find Veronica crying on the couch—full sobbing, makeup running, the works.

“What’s wrong?”

I asked, trying to sound concerned.

She looked up at me with red eyes.

“I can’t do this anymore. The lies, the sneaking around. I know you know.”

My heart stopped.

“Know what?”

“About my past. About the things I’ve done. I’m not proud of it, but I’m trying to change. That’s why I fell in love with you, with this family. You made me want to be better.”

It was a good performance. If I hadn’t seen the evidence, I might have bought it.

But I played along and sat beside her, letting her cry on my shoulder.

“Everyone deserves a second chance,”

I said.

She looked up at me, hope in her eyes.

“Really? You’re not going to throw me out?”

“Let’s talk about it. Tell me everything.”

And she did, or at least her version of everything. She told me how she’d made mistakes and gotten mixed up with bad people and how she’d gone to prison, but it wasn’t her fault.

She was just trying to survive and meeting me had changed everything. Not a word about the other families, not a word about Marcus, and not a word about what she was doing to Arya.

I nodded along, made understanding noises, and said I needed time to process but that I loved her. The relief on her face was sickening.

Tuesday she was back to normal, thinking she’d won. But she was also getting sloppy.

She left her laptop open while she showered. I quickly grabbed my phone and took pictures of everything I could find.

I found email exchanges with Marcus discussing payment and delivery dates. There was a folder of photos—not just Arya, but other girls too.

There were young girls in provocative poses, some looking drugged or confused. I found a calendar with dates marked.

This Saturday was circled in red with a day written next to it: four days away. Wednesday I met with the investigator and a lawyer and showed them everything I had.

The lawyer said it was enough for a restraining order, maybe criminal charges, but we needed to be careful. If Veronica ran or if she warned Marcus, they might disappear.

The Final Escape

We came up with a plan. Friday night, when Veronica thought I’d be at a work dinner, police would arrest Marcus based on the parole violations the investigator had found.

With him in custody, they’d have leverage to get Veronica to confess. But Veronica had her own plans.

Thursday morning she was extra sweet. She made breakfast, not just coffee—pancakes with fresh strawberries, Arya’s favorite.

I watched her like a hawk and made sure she didn’t add anything extra to our plates.

“I was thinking,”

she said, all casual.

“Maybe this weekend we could take a family trip, just the three of us. Start fresh.”

Arya and I exchanged glances.

“Where?”

I asked.