Chapter 4 - Three Knocks on the Door
The three slow knocks echoed through the house like gunshots. Every muscle in Maya’s body locked up. The heavy rain continued to drum a frantic rhythm against the roof, but inside the entryway, time seemed to grind to an absolute halt. Sarah pressed her hands tightly over her mouth to stifle a sob, while her grandmother closed her eyes, her lips moving in a silent, desperate prayer.
"Don't answer it," Sarah choked out, her voice trembling with sheer terror as she looked at her daughter. "Maya, please, step away from the door. If you open it, we are all dead."
The father did not flinch. He squared his shoulders, stepping closer to the threshold and positioning himself directly between Maya and the open door. His gaze remained locked on the frosted glass panes of the entryway, where the distorted shadow of the man in the trench coat lingered like a dark omen.
"Hiding didn't work twenty years ago, Sarah, and it certainly won't work tonight," the father said, his tone unwavering. "He found us because someone on the inside let him in. We need to face this."
Maya looked down at the crumpled paper in her hand—the forged birth certificate that had shattered her entire universe less than ten minutes ago. Her mind raced through a thousand conflicting emotions. She felt rage toward her mother for the elaborate web of lies, empathy for the impossible choices of her past, and a terrifying curiosity about the stranger waiting outside.
"Who let him in?" Maya asked, her voice dangerously quiet as she looked between her mother and her grandmother on the stairs. "Who knew about this birth certificate besides us?"
Sarah froze, her eyes darting nervously toward the hallway. "What are you implying, Maya?"
"I'm implying that this paper didn't just appear in the mailbox by magic," Maya snapped, her patience finally snapping under the crushing weight of deception. "Someone in this house wanted the truth to come out tonight. Someone wanted Arthur to find us."
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Before Sarah could formulate a defense, the doorknob began to turn. The brass handle clicked slowly, rotating counter-clockwise with a mechanical finality as the heavy oak door drifted another inch open on its hinges, pushed by a gloved hand from the dark porch outside.
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