The stepmother dragged Sophie by the hair toward the pool while she begged for her mother’s teddy bear.

For the next several evenings, I read Claire’s journal slowly. I savored every word. I learned things I had never known — her fears, her hopes, the moments of strength she had hidden behind her smile.

Elena’s presence appeared more and more frequently as the weeks progressed. Claire had written about the strange taste in her tea. The exhaustion that felt unnatural. The way Elena always seemed to be nearby, watching, listening, asking questions about documents and accounts.

And then I reached the final pages.

The entries grew shorter. Weaker. But her resolve never wavered.

I have hidden the key inside the bear. Elena will never think to look there. She believes it is merely a toy. If anything happens to me — if I die — Adrian will find the safe. He will see the video. He will know.

I only hope he finds it before Elena destroys everything.

Protect Sophie. Protect Adrian. Protect us all.

That was the last full entry. But there was something odd. The very last page felt thinner. Lighter. I ran my finger along the edge. A page had been carefully torn out.

I sat up straight.

Who would have torn it out? Elena? She had searched the house thoroughly. But she had never found the journal. Claire had sent it to Sarah long before Elena began her final push.

Sarah? No. She had kept it sealed. She had handed it to me exactly as Claire gave it to her.

I examined the ragged edge. The tear looked fresh. Or at least — not aged. It did not match the yellowing paper around it.

Someone had removed that page recently. After Claire died. Before Sarah handed the box over. Or perhaps… the page had been torn out before Claire sent it away. She had kept something back. One final secret she had chosen not to entrust even to the journal.

My mind raced. What could have been so terrible that she wrote it and then tore it out? Did she name someone else? Did she leave a final warning? Or had she simply decided that some truths were too dangerous to put on paper?

I reached for my phone and called Sarah. She answered quickly.

“Adrian? Is everything all right?”

“Sarah,” I said. “When you received this box… was the journal intact? Or was there a page missing?”

Sarah hesitated.

“I did not read it, Adrian. Claire asked me to keep it closed. I only checked that the box was locked. I never opened it until today.”

“Someone tore out the very last page,” I said.

Sarah went quiet. Then she spoke slowly.

“Claire called me the day before she mailed it. She was crying. She said she had written something terrible — something she decided at the last minute was too dangerous to put into writing. She said she had written it elsewhere instead. Somewhere only you would know to look.”

My breath caught.

“Where?”

“She would not tell me,” Sarah said. “She only said — ‘Where Adrian and I promised to always find each other.’ That was all. And then she hung up.”

I sat holding the phone, my heart pounding.