[Emily's pov]
My mascara is running, but I don't care. It adds to the performance. I dab at my eyes with the tissue Detective Reynolds handed me, careful to smudge the makeup just enough to look distraught without appearing completely unhinged. It's a delicate balance.
"I just can't believe she's gone," I whisper, my voice cracking in all the right places. "She's my baby girl."
Danny's hand tightens around mine, his thumb stroking reassuring circles against my skin. Poor thing doesn't even remember what happened at the park. The drugs I gave him worked perfectly.
Detective Reynolds sits across from us, his face a careful mask of professional sympathy. The living room feels too small with two officers occupying it, their uniforms and badges turning our home into something official and cold.
"Mrs. Sampson," Detective Reynolds says, leaning forward in his seat, "when exactly did you become aware that your daughter was missing?"
We're perched on the white couch. Danny's thigh presses against mine, warm and solid. My rock. My accomplice, even if he doesn't know it.
"Just this morning," I say, letting my voice waver slightly. "Holly's friend Stacy got in contact with me from her college. She was worried because Holly missed some important club meeting and wasn't answering her phone."
I twist the tissue between my fingers, creating the perfect picture of maternal distress.
"And when was the last time you spoke with Holly?" The detective's pen hovers over his notepad.
"Over a month ago." I glance at Danny, whose face shows genuine concern. "She doesn't call much. I thought she was just having fun in college, you know? Being independent."
Detective Reynolds nods, his expression softening. "That's understandable. College kids often get wrapped up in their new lives."
The younger officer, who introduced himself as Perez, pipes up from where he stands by our fireplace. "Does Holly have a history of disappearing without notice?"
I sigh, allowing my shoulders to slump. "She's always been... headstrong. When she was sixteen, she ran away for three days after an argument about curfew." I pause, as if the memory pains me. "But she's never gone this long without contacting someone."
"And you say it was Stacy who called you?" Reynolds confirms, making a note.
"Yes. Apparently they had some sort of train club together." I shake my head slightly, a mother bemused by her daughter's interests. "I guess Holly developed a love of trains in college."
The officers exchange a glance I pretend not to notice. I can read their thoughts as clearly as if they'd spoken them aloud, another college kid who's probably just blowing off steam, will turn up hungover at a friend's place in a day or two.
"We'll need Stacy's contact information," Reynolds says, flipping to a new page in his notebook.
I recite Stacy's phone number from memory, my voice steady despite the churning satisfaction in my stomach. Reynolds dutifully writes it down, unaware that calling that number will lead him straight into my carefully constructed narrative.
The officers spend another half hour asking routine questions. Where does Holly usually hang out? Does she have a boyfriend? Any enemies? With each question, I craft answers that paint the perfect picture of a troubled girl who might have just taken off on her own.
When they finally stand to leave, I allow my composure to crack just enough.
"You'll find her, won't you?" I ask, my voice small and fragile.
"We'll do everything we can, Mrs. Sampson," Reynolds assures me, tucking his notebook away. "Try not to worry too much. Most missing persons cases like this resolve themselves pretty quickly."
I nod gratefully, squeezing Danny's hand as we walk the officers to the door. Once they're gone, silence settles over our home, heavy with unspoken words.
Danny closes the door slowly, his shoulders tense. When he turns to face me, his eyes are filled with a mixture of guilt and concern that makes my heart swell with affection.
"I'm sorry," he whispers, his voice barely audible in the quiet house.
I step forward immediately, cupping his face in my hands. "It's fine, Danny. She hurt you." My thumbs stroke his cheekbones gently. "She won't be missed."
The truth of my words hangs between us. Danny's eyes search mine, looking for reassurance, for absolution perhaps.
"I don't think you did anything," he says carefully, but his eyes tell a different story. He knows, my clever boy. He's just too loyal to say it. "But my aunt had her envelope. She could make things complicated for you."
His concern for me, even now, makes my chest ache with love. Always worried about me, even when he should be worried about himself.
"Don't worry about Jessica," I say, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead. "I told you I'd take care of her."
Danny nods, but uncertainty lingers in his expression. "Are you sure? I can call her."
"It's fine, baby." I smile, guiding him toward the living room. "Everything's under control."
And it is. Jessica won't be a problem anymore. The photos Stacy took for me at their ridiculous train club of Jessica's son Michael were perfect, just suspicious enough to trigger a paranoid mother's worst fears. The unmarked envelope I sent did exactly what I intended. Jessica withdrew her son from school and left the state within 24 hours. She must have figured out I don't fuck around.
Danny looks at me with those beautiful green eyes, a storm of emotions swirling behind them. He's thinking, I can always tell when the gears are turning in that adoring mind of his.
"What now?" he finally asks, his voice barely above a whisper.
I can't help but laugh, the sound bubbling up from deep in my chest. It's such a simple question with such an obvious answer. I take his face in my hands again.
"What do you mean, 'what now'?" I ask, my voice tender yet confident. "Now we spend the rest of our lives together. Making each other happy for eternity."