He Let Our Daughter Die

My husband is the city's ace crisis negotiator, having rescued countless hostages from criminals.

But when our daughter was kidnapped, his negotiation failed and the kidnappers killed her.

I collapsed on the floor clutching my daughter's blood-stained toy, while he calmly organized his negotiation materials, preparing to leave.

"Rachel, the kidnappers weren't following any logical pattern. Their demands kept changing. Anyone would have struggled with this negotiation. I really did my best."

But late that night, his assistant Bailey posted on Snapchat.

[First time assisting with a negotiation and I said the wrong thing, making the kidnapper angry. Almost got the hostage hurt. So scared. Thank goodness my mentor helped me and told me not to worry~]

[He said he'll teach me all his techniques from now on. Is this a special privilege just for me? Getting kind of excited about it~]

The bracelet on his wrist was identical to the birthday gift our daughter had woven for him with her own hands.

With trembling fingers, I commented:

[No need to guess. I'll answer for him as his wife---yes, it's your special privilege.]

The next second, my phone rang. Adrian's usually calm voice was laced with fury.

"It was just a joke from my assistant. Do you have to blow it out of proportion? This will ruin her career!"

"You're emotionally unstable right now. Don't say things you'll regret. Delete that comment immediately, or we're..."

I hung up immediately.

Why should the person who killed my daughter get to enjoy life with a smile?

...

An hour later, I had over twenty missed calls from Adrian. I didn't answer a single one.

A text came through: "Since you insist on blaming her, then there's no point continuing this marriage. I'll have the divorce papers sent to the house. Just sign them."

I stared at the screen for a moment, then replied: "Fine."

No response from him after that. No follow-up questions, no additional words.

I packaged up screenshots from Bailey's Snapchat---group dinner photos and audio clips of her saying the wrong things that provoked the kidnapper during the negotiation---and sent them to him.

"Adrian, our daughter is dead. Does she really bear no responsibility at all?"

The message failed to send. He'd blocked me on Snapchat.

When I refreshed my feed, Bailey's post had changed. The previous content was deleted, replaced with a new one: "Too nervous on today's mission with Captain Hayes. Said the wrong thing and almost messed things up. Fortunately Captain Hayes reacted quickly and covered for me. The team dinner afterward was because Captain Hayes was worried I'd develop PTSD, so he spent the whole time counseling me. Sorry for any misunderstandings everyone."

The photo attached showed her with head bowed, hands forming a prayer gesture, looking utterly innocent.

Adrian commented below: "Don't be afraid. Learn from your mistakes. I've got your back."

A flood of comforting replies appeared beneath:

"New people make mistakes all the time. Captain Hayes is so protective of his subordinates."

"Isn't someone being too sensitive? The child's death is unfortunate, but you can't take it out on others."

"Bailey is so lucky to have such a great mentor."

I pulled at the corner of my mouth, mentally noting each of these names.

I'd pulled every string I could to get him into the elite negotiation unit, wanting him to achieve his potential.

I'd used all my resources to help him build his case portfolio and establish his reputation.

Now he was an industry legend, and naturally those around him basked in his glory. Even this rookie assistant dared to step all over me.

They probably thought that without him, I'd be nothing---that I'd just have to swallow my grievances.

Bailey replied to every comment with a shy emoji, and to Adrian with an animated starry-eyed face.

When someone knocked on my door, I was organizing my daughter's old photos and toys.

Outside was one of Adrian's colleagues, holding a document envelope and a small box.

"Captain Hayes asked me to deliver these," he said awkwardly. "This is the divorce agreement, and... Bailey said you might be emotionally distressed lately, so she sent this to help calm your nerves."

"The box says it's some kind of brain supplement for stress."

"Though honestly, ma'am, you seem pretty calm to me."

I shoved the box back into his hands. "Tell her I'm perfectly calm."

I closed the door and opened the envelope, writing my name on the signature line of the divorce agreement.

My phone buzzed with a message from the negotiation unit's director.

"Rachel, reconsider this. The others are one thing, but how can you transfer Adrian and Bailey to a conflict zone?"

"I understand you're in pain over your daughter and upset with Adrian. But don't let emotions affect work decisions. This isn't a small matter. You're not just ruining two top negotiators---think of all the hostages waiting for negotiation to save them."

I replied calmly: "You're right. I almost forgot about you. You've been suspended. Upper management will send someone to take over your duties."

Then I called the oversight department directly and had them take full control of the negotiation unit's personnel assignments.

"Anyone who pleads on behalf of Adrian or Bailey gets transferred to conflict zone rotation. Those who refuse pay the team training compensation as per contract."

I stroked my daughter's favorite stuffed rabbit, enunciating each word clearly.

Those team members defending Bailey in the comments---I'd pulled strings to recruit every one of them. I'd trained them in mock negotiations, analyzed cases with them, taught them everything they knew.

Now they only knew how to circle around Adrian, forgetting who gave them their opportunity.

Birds of a feather, all with the same sycophantic faces.

People with corrupt hearts can't be crisis negotiators.

They needed to go to the most dangerous places to practice courage and learn what responsibility and principles truly mean.

After hanging up, I noticed Adrian had called me over twenty times.

Finally, desperate, he sent a friend request with the verification message: Answer the phone immediately!

I was still looking at it when a new call came through.

The moment I answered, his roar crashed down on me:

"Have you lost your mind?! I'm about to be certified as an international negotiation expert, Bailey's about to join the core team, and you're transferring us to a conflict zone!"

"Rachel, what happened to our daughter was an accident! I'm suffering more than you!"

"Those kidnappers were psychotic from the start. No negotiator could have succeeded. It's not mine or Bailey's fault!"

"I've explained this to you countless times, but you won't let it go. I didn't let you access the recordings because I was afraid you'd break down even more! But you went ahead and spread rumors anyway, and now you're abusing your authority to transfer her out!"

His usually calm voice now trembled with rage.

I asked quietly: "When you left in such a hurry that day, was there really an emergency negotiation? Bailey said you were just providing her psychological counseling, that it was an innocent mistake. Is that true?"

"Or did you two plan it all along---using work as an excuse to go on a date?"

His breathing on the other end suddenly stopped.

After two seconds of silence, he forced himself to sound composed: "What are you talking about... This is completely unreasonable..."

Then came Bailey's soft, delicate voice: "Captain Hayes, don't argue with your wife. We rarely get time to relax, don't let this ruin it. When we get back, I'll apologize to her in person. I'll accept whatever punishment."

The call was immediately disconnected.

Presumably, he didn't want such trivial matters spoiling his mood.

I held my daughter's stuffed rabbit as tears poured from my eyes.

"I'll get justice for you."

I don't remember when I cried myself to sleep, only that when I woke, my head was pounding.

The next day, I came downstairs rubbing my temples, wanting some iced coffee to clear my head.

Adrian walked into the living room carrying a storage box. When he saw me, he paused, his expression deliberately gentle: "You're up? I organized Emma's drawings. Take a look and see if this works."

"I know these matter to you, so I didn't let anyone else touch them. Came back overnight to do it myself."

I was about to say I'd do it myself when I saw a figure wearing my loungewear emerge from the guest room.

It was the matching couple's set Adrian had specially bought---we only wore it at home.

She held a cleaning cloth and quickly approached Adrian: "Captain Hayes, let me take over. I'll wipe the table. If you don't mind, ma'am, I can help organize things too?"

Adrian stepped aside to avoid her hand, his tone somewhat unnatural: "No need. Her mother will handle it herself."

He turned to explain to me: "It was raining when we got back. Bailey's clothes got splashed, so I told her to go back to the dorm and change, but she insisted on helping to make amends. That's why I found some of your clothes for her to wear temporarily."

Bailey twisted the cloth in her hands, saying softly: "Ma'am, I'm so sorry about yesterday. I didn't dare touch Emma's things. Just wanted to help dust a bit. Please don't take it to heart."

"Enough, don't bring up the past." Adrian cut her off, his tone softening as he looked at me. "Rachel, she means well. Don't overthink it."

He paused, then added: "I cleared next week's assignments. I'll stay home with you for a few days. After Emma's funeral, we can talk about work."

I didn't respond, my gaze falling on a corner of paper visible in the storage box---Emma's drawing of our family portrait, where she'd deliberately drawn all three of us holding hands tightly together.

As Bailey wiped the table, her elbow accidentally bumped the storage box. Several drawings fell out.

She hurried to pick them up but lost her footing and stepped on the family portrait, her heel leaving a clear mark on the paper.

"Oh!" She cried out, her face instantly pale. "I'm so sorry, ma'am! I really didn't mean to!"

Adrian's brow furrowed sharply, but not at Bailey---he turned to me: "Look at you, why didn't you put the box somewhere safe?"

He bent down to retrieve the drawing, rubbing at the mark with his finger, his tone impatient: "Forget it. I'll find a frame for it later. Once it's matted, you won't see it."

I watched him dismiss it so casually, my whole body trembling.

"That was her last drawing." My voice shook. "You told her not to touch anything. Didn't she understand?"

Bailey was still frantically wiping at the paper, tears falling and creating small water stains on the drawing: "I really didn't mean to... Captain Hayes, I..."

"Enough!" I watched the drawing blur more and more, then shoved her away. "Who gave you permission to touch my daughter's things!"

Bailey stumbled and fell to the floor with a thud, tears instantly streaming down. "Ma'am... I..."

"Rachel! Have you lost your mind?" Adrian shouted, rushing over to help Bailey up. "She just got a drawing dirty, and you're physically pushing people?"

His eyes held poison as he looked at me: "Emma's gone, and I'm suffering just as much as you, but you can't treat everyone like they're your enemy!"

He pulled Bailey toward the door, throwing back one last line: "Remove mine and Bailey's names from the transfer list, or I'm divorcing you immediately!"

I stared at the soiled drawing, my nails digging deep into my palms.

From the day my daughter died, I stopped wanting him.