Chapter 5 — David flips through the pages of the hidden notebook — Then finds schedules detailing every meal packed since last month
David held the black spiral notebook under the harsh hallway light.
The ink was dark blue, pressed so hard into the paper that the tips of the letters had torn through the thin sheets.
He turned the page.
The repetitive handwriting stopped abruptly.
In its place was a rigid grid drawn with a ruler.
Rows and columns filled the upper half of the sheet.
David leaned closer to read the tiny script.
Every entry was marked with a date and an exact time.
Meal Prep Log read the heading at the top of the column.
Below it were precise calorie counts written beside every single entry.
Bacon and egg wrap, four hundred twenty calories.
Packed at 5:15 AM.
Chicken and rice thermos, five hundred ten calories.
Packed at 5:30 AM.
Sandwich, apple, and juice box, three hundred eighty calories.
Packed at 5:45 AM.
Every single day of the previous month was accounted for in the rows below.
There were entries for weekends and holidays.
There were entries for dates when Chloe had stayed home sick with a fever.
David flipped another page.
The schedules continued with the exact same obsessive detail.
Beside each meal entry, a short note was written in the margin.
Sent to school with Chloe.
Delivered to homeroom.
Handed over at the bus stop.
David stared at the marginalia.
The notes explicitly claimed that the meals had been successfully given to their daughter.
Yet the metal lunchboxes downstairs remained sealed in the refrigerator.
David turned back to the previous week’s pages.
The handwriting shifted slightly.
The letters grew smaller and slanted downward toward the right corner of the page.
I forgot if she took the blue container, one marginal note said.
Another entry from three days ago read, She left the house without the bag again, but I put it in her backpack.
David traced the line with his thumb.
The dates matched the days Jessica had complained of severe exhaustion.
He remembered her walking around the house in a daze, rubbing her temples, complaining that she could not sleep for more than an hour at a time.
She had blamed the neighborhood construction noise.
She had blamed the stress of the grocery bills.
David flipped to the final written page of the notebook.
The grid was gone.
Only a single sentence sat in the middle of the blank white page.
I am awake for days, but I dream that she is eating.
David lowered the notebook.
The hallway felt colder.
From downstairs, the sound of footsteps echoed softly against the wood floor.
Jessica was walking up the stairs.
David heard the slow drag of her slippers on each step.
She paused on the middle landing.
“David,” she called out, her voice raspy and thin.
David did not turn around.
He kept his eyes fixed on the open notebook in his hands.
“Jessica,” David said.
Jessica appeared at the top of the stairs.
Her face was pale, and dark circles bruised the skin beneath her eyes.
She looked down at the pile of silverware scattered across the carpet.
Then her gaze moved to the black notebook in David’s hand.
Her breathing hitched.
She reached out and gripped the wooden banister for support.
“I didn’t pack that one,” Jessica whispered, pointing a trembling finger at the page open in David’s hand.
“Which one?” David asked, his voice steady.
“Yesterday’s lunch,” Jessica said, her eyes widening in sudden panic as she stared at the ink. “I don’t remember packing yesterday’s lunch at all.”