Chapter 5 - The Night I Wasn't Home
“Noah fell?”
Megan shut her eyes.
“It wasn’t down the stairs.”
“Then what happened?”
Mom shouted from outside.
“Tell him!”
I slammed the door in her face.
Megan carried Noah to his playpen.
Then she sat down.
“Remember your conference in Denver?”
“Four months ago.”
“Yes.”
“I was gone two nights.”
She nodded.
“The first night, your mother came over.”
My stomach tightened.
“I told her not to. She used the emergency key.”
“The one we gave her?”
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t you change the locks?”
“I did.”
I stared at her.
“When?”
“The next morning.”
I thought back.
I remembered returning from Denver and using my key.
I had never noticed.
“What happened?”
“Linda came upstairs while I was giving Noah a bath. We argued.”
“About what?”
“She wanted to take him to Rachel’s house.”
“Without asking me?”
“She said you had already approved it.”
“I didn’t.”
“I know that now.”
Megan swallowed.
“I told her no.”
Her fingers started shaking.
“She took Noah out of my arms.”
Anger exploded through me.
“She what?”
“I grabbed him back. She grabbed me.”
Megan touched her shoulder.
“She shoved me into the hallway table.”
I stood so fast the chair scraped across the floor.
“And Noah?”
“He was in my arms.”
I couldn’t breathe.
“I turned so my back hit first.”
My hands curled into fists.
“Was he hurt?”
“No.”
“Then what was she talking about?”
“The baby gate.”
Megan pointed toward the stairs.
“She knocked it loose during the struggle. It fell down the staircase.”
“And she tells people Noah fell?”
“I think she wants you to believe he did.”
“Why?”
Megan looked toward the prepaid phone.
“Because there’s more.”
Of course there was.
“How much more?”
“Enough that I didn’t know how to tell you without sounding crazy.”
I sat beside her.
“I’m listening now.”
She stared at me.
“You always said your mother was difficult but harmless.”
Guilt burned through me.
“I was wrong.”
“You said Rachel was protective.”
“I was wrong.”
“You said they loved me.”
“I was wrong.”
She nodded slowly.
“I needed to hear you say that.”
I looked away.
Because those words cost me almost nothing.
Megan had spent months paying for my blindness.
“I’m sorry.”
She didn’t tell me it was okay.
I was glad she didn’t.
Then she opened the recordings.
“Three months ago, Linda started telling people I drank during the day.”
“What?”
“I don’t.”
“I know.”
“She photographed wine bottles in our recycling.”
“We had people over.”
“I know.”
“She sent Rachel screenshots of messages that looked like they came from me.”
“What messages?”
Megan handed me the phone.
Screenshots.
I CAN’T HANDLE HIM ANYMORE.
SOMETIMES I WISH I COULD JUST LEAVE.
DANIEL DOESN’T HELP.
My throat tightened.
“Did you write these?”
“No.”
“Then who did?”
“I didn’t know.”
She swiped.
Another photograph appeared.
My laptop.
Open.
A messaging app on the screen.
A hand reflected faintly in the black border.
A gold bracelet.
I knew that bracelet.
I bought it for my mother on her sixtieth birthday.
“She used my laptop?”
“Yes.”
“How did she know my password?”
Megan stared at me.
“You gave it to her.”
I remembered immediately.
Last Christmas.
Mom had wanted to print family photographs.
I had texted her my password.
I never changed it.
I stood.
“I’m changing everything.”
“Daniel.”
“What?”
“This wasn’t about making me miserable.”
“What was it about?”
She hesitated.
Then opened another file.
It was a photograph of documents spread across our kitchen table.
Legal forms.
I zoomed in.
At the top of one page were the words:
PETITION FOR EMERGENCY TEMPORARY CUSTODY.
My mother’s name was listed beneath.
So was Rachel’s.
I stared at Megan.
“They were planning to take Noah?”
She whispered, “No, Daniel.”
May you like
Her voice cracked.
“They were planning to convince you to help them.”
