Chapter 2: The Phone They Thought Was Useless
The first thing I felt was hope.
The second thing I felt was fear.
My fingers wrapped around the small object buried halfway beneath the loose dirt beside me, and for several seconds, I didn’t move.
I was afraid that even the smallest sound would bring them back.
I was afraid that Daniel would suddenly appear at the top of the yard and realize I had found a way to call for help.
But the backyard remained silent.
No footsteps.
No voices.
No sound except the wind moving through the trees.
I looked down as much as I could.
It was my phone.
The same phone Robert had taken from my hand.
The same phone they thought they had removed from me.
Somehow, during the chaos, he must have dropped it near the edge of the hole.
Or maybe he placed it there without noticing.
Either way, the person who wanted to silence me had accidentally left me the one thing that could save my life.
My hands were shaking as I tried to pull it closer.
The movement sent pain through my shoulders.
The dirt around me tightened.
For a moment, panic rose again.
I stopped.
I closed my eyes.
I placed both hands over my stomach.
“Stay with me,” I whispered to my baby.
“Mommy is going to get us out.””
The words sounded strange in the empty backyard.
But saying them gave me strength.
I reached again.
Slowly.
Carefully.
My fingertips touched the edge of the phone.
Then it slipped.
“No.””
My heart dropped.
The phone moved a few inches away, landing just outside my reach.
I stared at it.
So close.
Close enough to see the cracks on the screen.
Close enough to know help was right there.
But not close enough.
I fought against the urge to scream.
That was when I noticed the shovel.
The same shovel they had left behind as a threat.
The same shovel they expected me to look at while I waited for them to return.
But they had made another mistake.
They had left it close enough for me to use.
I stared at the wooden handle.
Then I looked back at the phone.
It wasn’t impossible.
Just difficult.
I twisted my shoulder as far as I could and felt the dirt move slightly.
Pain burned across my body.
I bit down on my lip until I tasted blood.
The baby moved.
A reminder.
A warning.
I couldn’t give up.
Not now.
Not after everything.
I spent the next several minutes trying to shift the shovel closer with my elbow.
Every movement felt like it took all the energy I had left.
The sun moved higher in the sky.
The heat grew stronger.
The cut on my forehead kept bleeding, and the blood continued running toward my eye.
I blinked repeatedly, trying to clear my vision.
Finally, the shovel handle touched my arm.
I almost cried.
Not because I was hurt.
Because I had a chance.
I hooked my fingers around the handle and pulled.
The shovel moved.
The dirt moved.
My entire body screamed in pain.
But inch by inch, I dragged it closer.
Then I used the edge of the shovel to push the phone toward me.
Again.
Again.
Again.
Until finally…
My fingers touched the phone.
I grabbed it so tightly that my hand cramped.
For a second, I just held it against my chest.
Like it was something alive.
Like it was a person who had finally come to rescue me.
Then reality came back.
The screen was locked.
My heart sank.
I tried to use my thumb.
Nothing.
The blood on my hand covered the screen.
I wiped it against my sleeve.
Nothing.
I stared at the phone.
“Please,” I whispered.
I couldn’t remember the last time I had prayed.
But I prayed then.
I tried my passcode.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
My fingers were shaking too badly.
Then the screen opened.
I almost sobbed.
The first thing I did was call emergency services.
But before I could press the button, I stopped.
A thought crossed my mind.
If they came back before help arrived, what would happen?
Would Daniel tell them I was dangerous?
Would his family lie?
Would they claim I had hurt myself?
I knew exactly what kind of people they were.
They had already convinced themselves I deserved this.
They would do anything to protect that belief.
So before calling, I opened the camera.
My hands trembled as I turned it toward myself.
The dirt.
The hole.
The shovel.
My face.
Everything.
I recorded.
“My name is Emily Carter,” I whispered into the camera.
My voice barely worked.
“I am eight months pregnant. My husband, Daniel Carter, his father Robert Carter, and his mother Margaret Carter buried me in the backyard of their home.””
Saying the words out loud made the situation feel even more real.
I swallowed.
“They accused me of cheating. They believe this baby is not Daniel’s. They took my phone, but they dropped it. If something happens to me, this video proves what they did.””
I turned the camera slightly.
I wanted proof.
Not just my words.
I wanted the world to see.
Then I heard something.
A noise.
A door opening.
My entire body froze.
Someone was coming.
I quickly stopped recording and lowered the phone.
My heart pounded so loudly I thought they could hear it.
Footsteps.
Slow footsteps.
Coming from the house.
I held my breath.
A shadow moved across the grass.
For one terrifying second, I thought it was Daniel.
I thought they had returned early.
I thought they had come back to finish what they started.
Then I heard a voice.
“Hello?””
Not Daniel.
Not Margaret.
A woman’s voice.
I blinked.
The figure stepped closer.
An older woman from the neighboring property.
Mrs. Collins.
I recognized her immediately.
She had lived next door for years.
She was the woman who always brought us tomatoes from her garden.
The woman who had once told me, “A baby changes everything in a family.””
Now she stood there, staring at me.
Her face turned pale.
“Oh my God.””
I tried to speak.
“Please…”
My voice cracked.
“Please help me.””
She dropped the basket she was carrying.
“What happened?””
I looked at her.
I wanted to explain everything.
I wanted to tell her about Daniel.
About Margaret.
About the betrayal.
But I couldn’t waste time.
“They buried me,” I said.
Her hand flew to her mouth.
“What?””
“They buried me.””
She ran toward me.
“Who did this?””
I looked toward the house.
The place where my husband lived.
The place where I thought I was loved.
Then I whispered the name that hurt the most.
“Daniel.””
Mrs. Collins looked toward the house.
“No…”
She shook her head.
“That can’t be true.””
I understood her reaction.
People don’t believe monsters are monsters when they know their names.
They imagine terrible things only happen somewhere else.
To someone else.
Not to the couple next door who smiled at them.
Not to the husband who waved every morning.
Not to the family who brought cookies during holidays.
But it happened.
And Mrs. Collins saw the proof right in front of her.
She pulled out her phone.
“I’m calling the police.””
I nodded.
Then another thought hit me.
“The video.””
She looked at me.
“What?””
“I recorded everything.””
Her expression changed.
“Good.””
A tear rolled down my face.
Not from sadness.
Not anymore.
Because for the first time that day, someone believed me.
Within minutes, sirens filled the neighborhood.
The sound was the most beautiful thing I had ever heard.
But before the officers reached me, I saw something through the trees.
A car.
A familiar car.
Daniel’s car.
My stomach tightened.
“He’s coming back.””
Mrs. Collins looked toward the road.
“Who?””
I couldn’t answer.
Because the man stepping out of the vehicle was the same man who had left me buried alive.
Daniel looked toward the backyard.
And when he saw me no longer alone…
His face changed.
He wasn’t afraid that I had survived.
He was afraid of something else.
Something he had not expected.
Something he thought would never happen.
He looked at the police officers walking toward him.
Then he looked directly at me.
May you like
And whispered four words that made my blood run cold.
“Where is the phone?””
