I walk to the front door of the big house. It isn’t as big as mine, but it’s still bigger than all the other ones next to it. My hands are shaking, and I know if I don’t do this right, Dad will make me wish I wasn’t born. That’s what he keeps telling me. So, I have to get this right. This is my first house. He went over and over what I had to do. What I had to say.

I won’t forget a single word.

I wouldn’t dare.

I fumble mindlessly with the old, torn shirt I’m wearing. I don’t like the clothes Dad dressed me in, but he said I needed to look like I was really, really broke and from a poor, possibly even homeless family. He even rubbed dirt on my face and into my hair. I feel yucky, and I want to have a bath, but I can’t do any of that until I’ve done what Dad asked me to do.

I reach the front door, and my heart feels funny. It’s beating so fast that I can’t get much air into my lungs. I don’t like how it’s making me feel, and I keep fumbling with my shirt, scared. Maybe I could run away? Just run and never go back to Dad. But he’d find me. He told me he’d find me. He said I can never escape him unless he tells me I can.

I wish he would tell me I can.

I knock on the door. Softly. Maybe if nobody answers, I can go home and have a bath, and read a book, and Dad will see this is a really silly idea.

The door opens.

A man stands in the doorframe, staring down at me. He doesn’t look as scary as I imagined in my head. He’s wearing a suit, like the ones Dad wears when he goes somewhere fancy. He has really dark hair and pretty blue eyes. They look like the sky. He studies me for a moment, and I stare up at him, my voice frozen. What if this is a really nice man and my dad is going to do something really awful to him?

I swallow, and then in a small voice, I croak, “I’m sorry to bother you, but I’m lost, and I can’t find my way home.”

The man stares at me, his eyes scanning over my clothes and then moving back up to my face. “What’s your name, sweetheart?”

My heart does a flip flop. No one has ever called me a nice name like that before. Nobody except Mommy, anyway.

“My name is Sally.”

That is the name Dad told me to use. He said, under no circumstances, am I to use my name. Ever.

“And where do you live, Sally?”

I look around, left and right, just like daddy told me to. “I’m ... I’m not really sure where I am. I was with my mom, and then I saw a butterfly and I ran off. Then, I got lost and I kept walking. Now I don’t know where I am. Can I use your phone to call my house?”

The man’s brows go up. “You know your own phone number? How old are you?”

“I’m nearly eight, and yes, Mom told me all kids should know their own phone numbers.”

He nods, seemingly impressed, and then says, “Okay. Come in.”

I slide off my ragged shoes, which also makes the man look happy, and then I follow him into the big house. It smells nice. Like cookies. I wish I could have some cookies. Rebecca bakes them for me when Dad isn’t around, but he says I shouldn’t eat sugar, that I need to stay fit and healthy so I can help him.

Mom always gave me cookies.

“The phone is right in here.”

We go into a big living room, with big red couches, and the man goes over to a phone, handing it to me. I stare down at it, and then start pressing the buttons. Dad says he has a special phone I’m supposed to call. I don’t know what he needs it for, but I heard him talking to someone on the phone saying he can trace things. I don’t know what that means. He answers, anyway, and says, “Are you inside the house?”

We practiced this, too.

“Mommy? I got lost. I’m at a man’s house.”

“After you hang up, you make sure you go to the bathroom and sneak off and find what you can,” Dad orders.

“I d-d-d-don’t think he’s a dangerous man,” I say, glancing at the man, just like Dad told me to.

The man’s eyebrows go up, and he shakes his head. “I won’t hurt you, young lady. Give your mother my address.”

He gives me his address, and I say it on the phone.

“Go. Hurry up,” Dad growls, then hangs up.

“Okay, Mommy, I’ll see you soon.”

I hang up the phone and hand it back to the man. “She’s coming. She said she’ll be here in ten minutes.”

“Very good. Can I get you a glass of water?”

I nod. “Yes. Please. Can I use your bathroom? I had a big milkshake before.”

I squeeze my legs together, just like I was told, and the man nods. “If you walk down that hall, count three doors, you’ll find it on your left. Do you know which side is your left?”

I nod and point to the left.

“Clever girl. I’ll get you some water.”

I walk off down the hall, and when I hear the man go into the kitchen and the door swings closed, I start opening all the doors in the hallway. The first two are bedrooms, and they don’t look like they have anything in them. The third one is a toilet, just like he said. I rush over to the other side and open them, too. I finally come to an office. I slip in. My heart is making me feel funny, and my stomach is sick, but I hurry, just like Dad said. I go to the desk, and I pick up anything I can find. Any pieces of paper that have names, or phone numbers, or are invoices, which Dad showed me so I knew what they looked like.

I take as much as I can, fold it all up, and stuff it into my pants, and then I rush back out and over the hall to the bathroom. I go inside, shutting the door, and I grab hold of the sink, panting. That was really scary, and I didn’t like it at all. Not one bit. I wash my hands and wet my face, and then make sure the paper is tucked into my pants properly before walking out.

The man is just coming into the hall when I step out, and I flinch when I see him.

He could have caught me.

But he didn’t.

Thank God.

“Everything okay?” he asks me.

“Yes, thank you.”

I move back into the living room and drink the glass of water he gives me. When there is a knock at the door ten minutes later, I rush over and open it. Dad already told me his friend Esther will be pretending she’s my mother for when she needs to come and collect me. He told me he thought everything through.

“Mommy,” I cry, again, just like we practiced.

“Silly, silly girl. Rushing off. I was beside myself! Never do that again,” Esther pretends, hugging me. Then she looks up at the man. “Thank you so much for taking care of her.”

He nods. “My pleasure.”

Then we leave.

The second we get to the car, Esther looks at me. “Your father will be proud.”

She’s wrong.

Dad is never proud.

Never.