Chapter 1

On Christmas Eve, my wife Sarah, our five-year-old Lily, and I drove back to my hometown in Ohio.

Lily, blonde and blue-eyed, chattered in her sweet voice all the way. She looked like a little angel come to life.

My relatives crowded around her, cooing and playing, the firelight from the fireplace dancing on their smiling faces.

It should have been a warm, joyful night. But as the red wine dwindled, my Aunt Carol suddenly gestured for me to follow her outside.

In the storage room, crammed with Christmas gifts, she closed the door and made a request that instantly froze my blood.

"Hand over Lily's guardianship to my son."

I stared, certain I'd misheard. “What did you say? Is this a joke?"

The request was impossible. It made no sense.

"I had a psychic reading,”Carol said, her tone turning lofty. “Your next child will be a boy. Look, Jack needs a child, and Lily is perfect. Why not let her make him happy? You'll have others."

"She is my daughter,” I said, my voice shaking with fury. “Not a gift to pass around. One more word, and we're leaving. Now."

I turned to go. She dropped to her knees, hands clasped, tears suddenly falling.

It was then I learned that her son, Jack, had been having episodes for half a year-refusing to eat, breaking things, posting violent things online.

He'd screamed it again and again. “I'm going to adopt Lily! If I can't have her as my daughter, I'd rather not live!"

I almost laughed. It was a bitter, hollow sound.

Adopt?

Was I supposed to be dead?

Then, as the rage cooled, a cold, clear thought took shape: This wasn't about adoption. It was about possession.

Jack was only twenty-two, single, with no job or income. How could Child Protective Services ever approve him?

Unless...he wasn't planning an adoption at all"

A memory surfaced, sharp and cold. Six months ago, when fixing his phone, I'd d stumbled on a folder of indecent images of children, and dark-web “literary” links. .

I looked down at Carol, who was still sobbing. "Even if you bleed from your knees, I will never agree."

She collapsed onto the floor, wailing, calling me selfish, disrespectful, and claiming I'd ruined her family.

"My son will die! It's all your daughter's fault!" she shrieked.

The relatives in the living room rushed in, drawn by the commotion. My parents snapped at me, "How could you upset your aunt like this?!"

I didn't explain. My eyes were fixed on Jack, who was emerging from behind the crowd.

Overweight, with a face full of acne scars. He'd dropped out of community college and worked at an auto repair shop near home.

"Give me your phone." I pointed at him.

He staggered back two steps, his eyes flickering.

I'd felt uneasy since dinner-he'd been holding his phone, pretending to photograph the Christmas tree, but the lens always seemed to be aimed at Lily.

I lunged, snatched the phone, and forced his face against it to unlock it.

Inside the gallery, there was a folder named "Angel."

The moment I opened it, my scalp prickled.

It was filled with pictures of my daughter. Dozens of them.