My husband wanted to give our daughter away to his high school sweetheart’s violent son.

All because the boy took one look at my sweet Lily and decided he wanted her.

Like she was some new toy to own.

And so, without me knowing, he sent her away.

When Lily called him, begging for help, he just kept hanging up on her in annoyance.

“All you have to do is play nice with Cody,” he’d yelled.

“If you can’t even do that one little thing, you’re just a worthless disappointment.”

“Do it right or just die, and don’t you dare come home to me!”

And later, my daughter really did die.

At her funeral, my husband broke down, sobbing his heart out.

……

I was still in Chicago on a business trip the day my daughter died.

I’d spent hours picking out the perfect birthday present for her.

Looking at the sparkly princess dress in the gift box, my heart felt so full.

I dialed her number, excited to tell her I was coming home today.

But it was my husband, Mark, who answered.

I asked to speak to Lily.

Mark’s voice was hesitant and shifty, and I knew right away something was wrong.

I remembered him mentioning something before, about sending Lily over to his ex-girlfriend Wendy’s house to be a “playmate” for her son, and a cold dread washed over me.

I practically screamed into the phone, “Mark, did you send Lily to Wendy’s house behind my back? You know her son isn't right in the head!”

Now that he was caught, Mark lost his patience and shot back without a hint of remorse, “Are you a psychiatrist now, Sarah? Always claiming someone’s son has mental problems. Your daughter is just fine, getting straight F’s year after year. If you ask me, there’s something wrong with her brain!”

My chest heaved with fury. “Mark, Lily is your own daughter! How can you defend some stranger’s kid by trashing your own flesh and blood? What kind of father are you?”

Mark just scoffed. “I don’t claim that stupid kid. I have a Master’s from a top university, and she’s at the bottom of her class. You have any idea how much people have laughed at me over the years?”

I didn’t want to argue about parenting with him. My voice dropped, low and cold. “Mark, I’m going to ask you one last time. Is our daughter at Wendy’s house?”

“So what if she is? She’s fine. She even called me last night. Just the same old act, crying and trying to get attention!”

A spike of fear went through me. I pressed him, “What did Lily say to you?”

Mark answered casually, “Oh, just the usual drama. Crying that she was going to die, that everything hurt. Total nonsense. Her communication skills are just awful…”

I hung up.

My heart felt like it was being squeezed in a vise, and I couldn't breathe.

I ran, just ran. Faster, I had to go faster.

A heavy feeling settled in my gut, a terrible certainty that if I was even a second too late, I’d never see Lily again.

When I got to Wendy’s apartment complex, I sprinted to her door and started pounding on it like a maniac.

After what felt like forever, Wendy finally opened it, slow and casual, a smug, hateful smile on her face.

“Well, well, if it isn’t Sarah. Mark isn’t here today, you’ve got the wrong place.”

I had no time for her games. I pushed past her and searched the apartment, screaming Lily’s name.

She wasn’t anywhere.

I grabbed Wendy by the collar, my eyes burning. “Wendy! Where is my daughter? Where is she? Tell me!”

Wendy just threw her hands up. “How should I know? You’re her mother, you should be watching her. And let me tell you right now, if you lay a hand on me, I’ll sue you for everything you’ve got!”

I hated her so much I could taste it. I shoved her away hard.

My eyes caught something under the coffee table. It was a doll.

I picked it up.

The doll’s dress was shredded, its eyes and face slashed with a pair of scissors.

I clutched the doll and stared Wendy down. “This is my daughter’s. Tell me where she is!”

Wendy’s face went pale, and her eyes darted toward the bedroom.

I turned and saw her son, Cody, peeking at me through a crack in the door.

His dark, gloomy eyes filled me with a white-hot rage.

I say Cody has mental problems because he’s been diagnosed with severe violent tendencies and a personality disorder.

Everyone who lives here knows it.

Everyone except Mark, who refuses to believe it, lost in the web of lies Wendy and her son have spun for him.

I’d personally seen Cody torturing cats and dogs.

How could I ever let my daughter near someone like that?