I heard my granddaughter scream before I reached the terrace.

“GRANDPA!”

I started running.

Mia was three years old.

Three-year-old children don’t scream your name like that unless they believe you’re the last person who can help them.

By the time I stepped through the French doors, Mia was on her knees beside the swimming pool.

Crying.

Reaching desperately toward the water.

My son Daniel stood behind her.

His wife Elena stood several feet away with her arms folded.

Neither of them was comforting her.

“What happened?”

Elena turned.

She looked annoyed to see me.

“Nothing.”

Then Mia saw me.

“Grandpa!”

She ran toward me.

I barely had time to open my arms before she crashed into my chest.

“Mommy’s heart!”

“What?”

“Elena threw Mommy’s heart away!”

I looked toward the pool.

Something silver was sinking beneath the blue water.

And suddenly I understood.

The locket.

My late daughter-in-law Sophia’s locket.

My stomach turned.

I had given that necklace to Sophia on the day she married Daniel.

After Sophia died, it became Mia’s.

Sophia had worn it almost every day of her daughter’s life.

Mia slept with it.

Talked to it.

Sometimes kissed it goodnight because, in the strange logic of a grieving toddler, that silver heart was where Mommy lived now.

I looked at Elena.

“You threw Sophia’s locket into the pool?”

She rolled her eyes.

“For God’s sake, Anthony. It’s jewelry.”

“To you.”

“She needs to stop obsessing over a dead woman.”

The terrace went silent.

Even Daniel looked uncomfortable.

I stared at my son’s wife.

“Choose your next words very carefully.”

She laughed.

“There. That’s exactly what I’m talking about.”

“What?”

“You.”

She pointed at me.

“You keep encouraging this.”

Mia clung tighter to my jacket.

“She needs to move on.”

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.

“She’s three.”

“Exactly. She barely remembers Sophia.”

Mia began crying again.

“I remember Mommy!”

I knelt immediately.

“I know you do, sweetheart.”

“She sang the bunny song.”

My throat tightened.

“Yes.”

“And she called me Peanut.”

“Yes, she did.”

Mia pointed toward the pool.

“Please get Mommy’s heart.”

I stood.

Daniel stepped forward.

“Dad, don’t turn this into something bigger.”

I looked at my son.

“Your wife just threw your dead wife’s necklace into a swimming pool.”

“It’s a necklace.”

I stared at him.

“To you.”

I turned toward one of my security men.

“Marcus.”

“Yes, sir?”

“Get it.”

He removed his jacket immediately.

Elena scoffed.

“This is insane.”

I ignored her.

Then I looked down at Mia.

And noticed her knee.

A dark purple bruise showed beneath her summer dress.

My eyes narrowed.

“What happened there?”

Mia immediately pulled her dress lower.

That reaction bothered me.

Three-year-olds usually show you every scrape they get.

Mia was hiding hers.

Before I could ask again, Elena reached for her.

“Come here.”

Mia moved behind me.

“No.”

Elena’s expression hardened.

“Mia.”

My granddaughter grabbed my trouser leg.

“No!”

I stepped between them.

“She said no.”

Elena stared at me.

“She’s my responsibility.”

“No.”

My voice went quiet.

“She is my son’s child.”

Daniel finally stepped closer.

“Dad, enough.”

I looked at him.

Then Mia shifted against me.

My hand brushed her upper arm.

She flinched.

Not dramatically.

Just a tiny recoil.

But I felt it.

I knelt again.

“Mia?”

She wouldn’t look at me.

“Sweetheart, does your arm hurt?”

“No.”

The answer came too quickly.

I gently moved the sleeve of her dress.

And stopped.

There was another bruise.

Darker.

Finger-shaped marks were visible along part of her upper arm.

My stomach dropped.

I checked her other arm.

Another fading mark.

Then her knee.

Three different areas.

Three different stages of healing.

I slowly stood.

Daniel had gone pale.

“Where did these come from?”

Elena answered immediately.

“She falls.”

I wasn’t looking at her.

I was looking at Daniel.

“Daniel.”

“She’s three, Dad.”

“What happened to her arm?”

“She plays.”

“That isn’t an answer.”

Elena stepped between us.

“You don’t have children this age anymore. Toddlers bruise.”

I looked down at Mia.

She was staring at the ground.

“Mia.”

Her eyes lifted.

“Did you fall?”

She glanced at Elena.

That was my answer.

I crouched again.

“You’re not in trouble.”

Her chin trembled.

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

“Even if I tell?”

My heart started pounding.

“Especially if you tell.”

Behind me, Elena said sharply:

“Anthony, stop interrogating her.”

I turned.

“Don’t speak.”

Her mouth fell open.

“Excuse me?”

“Not another word.”

Daniel grabbed my shoulder.

“Don’t talk to my wife that way.”

I removed his hand.

“Then you start talking.”

“About what?”

I pointed toward his daughter.

“Those.”

Daniel glanced at Mia’s bruises.

His eyes dropped.

That frightened me more than anger would have.

Because my son wasn’t surprised.

He already knew.

“You’ve seen them before.”

Daniel said nothing.

I stepped closer.

“You knew?”

“Dad…”

“You knew.”

“Elena has been under a lot of pressure.”

For a moment, I couldn’t process the sentence.

“What does Elena’s stress have to do with bruises on your daughter?”

“It isn’t what you’re implying.”

“What am I implying?”

He couldn’t answer.

Then Marcus returned.

He was soaked to the waist.

In his hand was the silver heart.

“Mr. Stallone.”

He placed it in my palm.

I knelt beside Mia.

“Look.”

Her face transformed.

“Mommy!”

I carefully closed her tiny fingers around the locket.

“There.”

She pressed it against her chest.

“Can Elena take it?”

“No.”

“Can Daddy?”

I looked at Daniel.

“No.”

Her shoulders relaxed.

“No one takes it from you again.”

Mia threw her arms around my neck.

Then whispered:

“Grandpa?”

“Yes?”

“Can I come home with you?”

My heart sank.

“You mean tonight?”

She nodded.

“Please don’t make me stay.”

Behind me, nobody moved.

I held her tighter.

“Why don’t you want to stay here?”

She buried her face against my shoulder.

“I don’t like when Daddy goes to work.”

I closed my eyes.

“Why?”

Her voice became almost inaudible.

“Because Elena gets mad.”

I opened my eyes.

“What happens when Elena gets mad?”

Daniel stepped forward.

“Dad, that’s enough.”

I raised one hand.

He stopped.

“Mia?”

She wouldn’t answer.

Then she whispered:

“She puts me in Mommy’s room.”

Daniel went completely still.

I looked at him.

“What is Mommy’s room?”

Nothing.

“Daniel?”

“It was Sophia’s dressing room.”

I remembered it.

Upstairs.

At the far end of the west hallway.

Sophia’s clothes had been removed after her death.

I thought the room was empty.

“Why would Mia be put in there?”

Daniel stared at Elena.

For the first time, she looked nervous.

“She isn’t.”

Mia lifted her head.

“Yes.”

Elena’s face tightened.

“No, Mia.”

“Yes!”

“What happens in the room?” I asked.

My granddaughter squeezed the locket.

“The door doesn’t open.”

Every muscle in my body went rigid.

“From the inside?”

She shook her head.

I looked at Daniel.

“Is there a lock?”

“Dad—”

“IS THERE A LOCK?”

“Yes.”

I stood.

“Marcus.”

My security man stepped closer.

“Call the police.”

Elena laughed nervously.

“You cannot be serious.”

“Also request medical assistance.”

Daniel stepped toward me.

“Dad, stop.”

I looked at my son.

“Your three-year-old daughter has unexplained bruises and is telling me she’s being locked inside a room.”

“You don’t understand what’s been happening.”

“Then explain it to the police.”

Elena grabbed Mia’s wrist.

“She’s staying here.”

Mia screamed.

I immediately removed Elena’s hand.

“Do not touch her.”

“She is my stepdaughter!”

“And right now she is asking you not to touch her.”

Daniel stepped between us.

“This is my house.”

I stared at him.

“And that’s your daughter.”

He went silent.

Then something strange happened.

Mia’s locket clicked.

I looked down.

The silver heart had opened.

Inside was Sophia’s photograph.

I smiled despite everything.

Then I noticed something behind it.

A tiny folded piece of paper.

I frowned.

I’d seen that locket hundreds of times.

I had never known there was anything behind the photograph.

I carefully removed it.

Daniel saw what I was doing.

“What is that?”

“I don’t know.”

The paper was old.

The handwriting wasn’t.

I recognized it immediately.

Sophia’s.

My dead daughter-in-law.

There were only two lines.

Anthony—if you’re reading this, then I didn’t get the chance to tell you myself.

My hands began shaking.

I unfolded the rest.

Daniel moved toward me.

“Dad?”

I kept reading.

Then I looked at my son.

“What?”

he whispered.

I couldn’t answer.

Because Sophia hadn’t written about Mia.

She’d written about Daniel.

And the final sentence explained why she had hidden the note inside the one possession she knew would eventually belong to her daughter.

IF ANYTHING HAPPENS TO ME, DO NOT LET DANIEL DECIDE WHAT HAPPENS TO MIA UNTIL YOU OPEN THE SAFE IN MY MOTHER’S HOUSE.

Daniel’s face drained of color.

Elena stopped speaking.

I stared at my son.

“What safe?”

Daniel shook his head.

“I don’t know.”

But Mia suddenly tugged my jacket.

“Grandpa?”

I looked down.

“What, sweetheart?”

She pointed toward her mother’s photograph inside the locket.

“Daddy knows.”

The terrace went silent.

“How do you know that?”

Mia looked at Daniel.

Then whispered:

“Because I heard him tell Elena they still haven’t found Mommy’s key.”

Daniel closed his eyes.

And that was when I understood.

The bruises were only the beginning.

Sophia had been afraid before she died.

She had hidden something.

Daniel knew about it.

And now someone had tried to take away the one object Sophia had made certain would stay with her daughter.

I closed my hand around the silver heart.

The police were already on their way.

But I no longer intended to ask only where Mia’s bruises came from.

I was going to find out what my son had been searching for since his wife died.

TYPE “HEART” FOR PART 2 👇