PART 1

My granddaughter Posy is seven, and last month she started keeping a chart taped inside her closet door. It was a simple piece of poster board covered in little weather pictures she drew. One for every day of the month. There were bright yellow suns, gray clouds, and jagged red lightning bolts. I figured it was a school project for science class.

Her mama, my daughter Sarah, married Kurt last spring. It was a beautiful, rustic barn wedding.

I dipped into my savings to help pay for the $12,000 event because I just wanted to see Sarah happy after years of struggling as a single mother. Kurt seemed like the answer to our prayers. He had a good job in local government, smiled constantly, and stepped right into the father role. He built Posy a beautiful cedar swing set in the backyard by himself. He always calls her sweet pea in front of the family. He would scoop her up, and she would giggle, and I thought we were all incredibly blessed.

But things started to feel slightly off. Saturday she stayed with me at my house, which she does once a month to give the newlyweds a date night. When it was time for bed, Posy begged me to leave the overhead light on. Not just the hallway light or a nightlight, but the blazing main bedroom fixture.

I asked her why she was suddenly so scared of the dark. She just mumbled about monsters.

The next morning over pancakes, I asked her about that pretty weather chart in her closet. I told her I thought it was very clever and asked if her teacher gave her a good grade.

Posy put her fork down. She got very quiet and looked at the kitchen door to make sure we were alone.

“The storms are days,” she said in a tiny whisper. “I have to know before he gets home.”

I did not understand what she meant. I asked her to explain, but she clammed up and asked if she could go watch cartoons. I let it go, but a knot formed in my stomach and stayed there.

Sunday afternoon, I took Posy back home. Sarah and Kurt announced they were going to run to the grocery store to grab things for a Sunday roast.

They asked if I would mind staying with Posy for thirty minutes. I said I would love to.

As soon as their car pulled out of the driveway, I went upstairs to Posy’s room. She was downstairs watching television. I opened her closet door and looked at the poster board. It was taped at her eye level, right behind her hanging dresses.

I slipped my fingernail under the masking tape and peeled the chart off the door. I brought it over to the window to get a better look in the natural light.

I had to sit. My knees actually gave out, and I sank onto the edge of Posy’s little twin bed.

I looked closely at the jagged red lightning bolts. Under every single lightning bolt, she had written in her shaky seven year old handwriting exactly what Kurt does when nobody else is looking.

PART 2

The handwriting was tiny and cramped, like she was terrified someone would catch her writing it.

I read the words under a lightning bolt from the previous Tuesday. It said, “Kurt squeezed my neck until I promised not to cry.”

Under a lightning bolt from two weeks prior, it said, “Kurt locked me in the dark basement because my shoes were dirty.”

Another one simply read, “Kurt threw my favorite doll in the trash and said I am stupid just like my dad.”

I sat there trembling. The suns on the chart were days when Kurt was in a good mood, or days when Sarah was home the whole time. The gray clouds were days he yelled at Sarah or paced around slamming doors. The lightning bolts were the days he punished Posy. And he always made sure to do it in ways that left no visible marks, or in ways he could easily explain away.

I heard the front door open downstairs. Sarah called out to let me know they were back with the groceries. Panic washed over me. I took my cell phone out of my purse and snapped high resolution photos of every single section of that chart. I made sure the text was perfectly clear. Then I carefully taped the chart exactly where it had been on the inside of the closet door. I smoothed down the edges so it looked undisturbed.

I walked downstairs. Kurt was standing in the kitchen taking produce out of a canvas bag. He looked up, gave me his million dollar smile, and asked if Posy had been a good sweet pea. It took everything I had not to pick up the heavy iron skillet from the stove and hit him with it.

I forced a smile, told them Posy was perfect, and said I needed to get home to feed my cat. I practically ran to my car.

I knew I could not just show the photos to Sarah yet. Sarah was completely blinded by her love for this man. She had spent five lonely years raising Posy alone, and Kurt had swept in like a knight in shining armor. If I brought her a chart made by a seven year old, Kurt would effortlessly spin it. He would say Posy has a wild imagination. He would say she was just acting out because she was jealous of the new marriage. He would convince Sarah I was trying to sabotage them, and he would cut me out of their lives. Then Posy would be left completely unprotected.

I needed indisputable proof. I needed a trap.

PART 3

I spent the next day figuring out a plan. I checked Sarah’s work schedule. She is a dental hygienist, and her office stays open late on Thursday nights. On Thursdays, Sarah does not get home until almost eight in the evening. Kurt gets off his government job at four, which means he picks Posy up from aftercare and has her alone in the house for over three hours.

Looking at the photos of the chart, I realized almost every lightning bolt fell on a Thursday.

Wednesday afternoon, I went to an electronics store two towns over. I bought a small security camera that was built into a digital clock. It cost me two hundred dollars, but I did not care. It recorded video and audio directly to a memory card inside.

Thursday morning, I stopped by Sarah’s house with a basket of fresh blueberry muffins. I knew Sarah would be rushing to get ready for work and Kurt would be in the shower. I walked into the living room, placed the digital clock right on top of the bookshelf, and plugged it into the wall behind some framed photos. The camera had a perfect view of the living room, the hallway, and the door leading down to the basement.

I left the house and went home to wait. Those hours were pure torture. I knew Posy was going to be alone with him, and it made me physically sick, but I knew this was the only way to save her permanently.

On Friday morning, I went back. Kurt was already at work. Sarah was having her coffee. I told her I had bought them a little decorative clock but decided it did not look right, so I grabbed it off the shelf and put it in my bag. I drove straight home and plugged the memory card into my computer.

I fast forwarded through the empty house footage. At 4:15 PM, the front door opened. Kurt walked in carrying his briefcase, and Posy trailed behind him looking at the floor.

The audio kicked in. Kurt told Posy to take her shoes off. Posy struggled with a knotted shoelace. She was taking too long.

The man who called her sweet pea vanished. His face twisted into something ugly and mean. He grabbed Posy by her upper arm, hoisted her off her feet, and dragged her toward the hallway. Posy was sobbing softly, begging him to stop. He leaned down and hissed in her face that if she made a sound when her mother got home, he would take her outside and make her sleep in the dirt.

Then he opened the basement door, shoved my tiny granddaughter into the pitch black stairwell, and locked the deadbolt from the outside. He walked to the kitchen, grabbed a beer, and sat on the couch to watch sports. He left her in that dark basement for two full hours. He only let her out fifteen minutes before Sarah’s car pulled into the driveway.

ENDING

I did not call Sarah. I called the local police department. I drove down to the station with my laptop and the memory card.

I sat in a small room with two officers and showed them the video. The room went dead silent as they watched a grown man violently handle a small child and lock her in the dark. I showed them the photos of the weather chart. I explained that Kurt was at work at the county building and Posy was at school.

The police did not waste any time. They told me to go pick up Posy from school immediately and take her to my house. While I was doing that, two squad cars went to Sarah’s dental office to intercept her. Two other cars went directly to Kurt’s office building.

I picked Posy up and brought her home. I made her hot cocoa and wrapped her in my biggest blanket. About an hour later, Sarah burst through my front door. She was hysterical, crying so hard she could barely breathe. The police had shown her the video in the back room of her clinic.

Her whole world had shattered, but her maternal instinct kicked in fiercely. She fell to her knees and hugged Posy, apologizing over and over again, promising that the bad man was never coming back.

Kurt was arrested at his desk in front of his entire department. He was charged with child abuse, false imprisonment, and child endangerment. When he found out there was high definition video with audio, his arrogant facade crumbled. He tried to offer a plea deal to avoid jail time, but the prosecutor refused.

Sarah filed for an immediate annulment and a permanent restraining order. We went to the house with a police escort while Kurt was sitting in a holding cell and packed up every single thing Posy and Sarah owned. We left the wedding ring on the kitchen counter.

It has been six months since that terrible week. Sarah and Posy live with me now while Sarah saves up for a new place. Kurt is awaiting trial, and his own family will not even speak to him.

Yesterday, I walked into Posy’s room to put away some laundry. The closet door was open. Taped to the inside of the door was a brand new piece of poster board.

I walked over and looked at it. For the entire month, there was nothing but bright, yellow suns.