My brother’s voice exploded through the phone, raw with alarm.
“Eleanor, stop scaring me. What are you saying? What happened? Is this about Nathaniel again? If you’re destroying yourself over that jerk, then you’ve completely lost it. He’s gone—and even if he weren’t, he never deserved you.”
“He isn’t gone,” I said quietly, the words shaking with anger and heartbreak.
There was a long silence on the other end. I could almost hear him holding his breath.
“What do you mean, he isn’t?”
“I mean exactly that,” I replied. “Nathaniel is still alive. He staged his own death, Adrian.”
His tone shifted instantly, sharp with urgency. “Do you want me there right now? I’ll get you out of that house. You can start over, Vic. You don’t need him. I’ll help you find your son—”
My throat burned. “So you already knew what kind of hell I was living in?”
“Yes,” he said simply. “We stopped talking after your wedding, but I never stopped watching out for you. I’ve always had people keeping an eye on things.”
My eyes filled again. “Then don’t just watch anymore,” I said. “Help me disappear. Help me make him feel what I felt when he erased himself from my life.”
For a few seconds, there was nothing but his breathing. Then his voice came back, firm and steady.
“Give me seven days. I’ll set it up. You won’t have to do this alone.”
I let the phone fall from my fingers. My hands wouldn’t stop shaking. I stayed exactly where I was, staring at the ceiling until dawn broke, replaying everything—every lie, every memory.
Sleep never came.
A knock sounded at my door. Before I could answer, the handle turned and he walked in, wearing that careful, concerned expression.
“Eleanor,” he murmured, “I’m sorry about yesterday. Things shouldn’t have spiraled like that.” He paused, then added gently, “I’ll take you to the police today. We’ll see if there’s any news about your baby. After that, we’ll go to the hospital and make sure you’re okay.”
I didn’t respond. I just looked at him, trying to recognize the man I once loved.
I was about to stand when Delilah’s voice drifted from the hallway.
“Harold, sweetheart,” she called weakly, “I feel dizzy. I need you.”
Then I heard it.
A baby crying.
Not just any cry, but the thin, frantic sound of an infant who needed to be held.
Nathaniel turned instantly, already moving toward the door. He didn’t spare me another glance.
My chest tightened until I thought I might pass out. He ran to her. To her baby.
And my own child was still missing.
My fingers dug into the mattress as my mind slipped back to the day I first met him—how he stood in the park glowing in the late summer sun, how I’d liked him first, how I’d told Delilah everything, believing she would be happy for me. She’d smiled back then, teased me, played the part of a loyal friend.
I never expected to later see them together—laughing, holding hands. I never confronted either of them. I convinced myself I was being mature. That love was complicated.
Then Delilah left town, and I stayed behind, building a life with the man she abandoned.
Now she was back. And she had his child.
I pressed my hand over my stomach, remembering how he used to lie beside me at night, whispering promises to the unborn baby.
“I’ll never miss a single milestone. First word, first step, first day of school. I’ll teach him to ride a bike—maybe even how to fly. He’ll always know I’m here.”
Every word had been a lie.
I slipped out of the house without saying anything. At the police station, I asked—again—if there was any news about my missing son.
The officer only shook his head. “Nothing new, Mrs. Carrington. At this point…” He didn’t finish the sentence, but I understood it perfectly.
I went back in a daze.
And then I saw it.
A crib in the living room.
Inside it lay a baby boy, fists curled, tiny sounds drifting from his lips. My heart nearly burst out of my chest. He had my son’s hair, my son’s dimple.
I stepped closer, shaking. Just one touch—
“HELP! Somebody help!” Delilah shrieked suddenly. “She’s trying to hurt the baby!”
