Chapter 2 - THE SUITCASE BENEATH ETHAN'S BED
The first place I took Ethan was a small hotel near Lincoln Park.
Not because I wanted luxury.
Because it had a front desk, security cameras, and a room with two beds.
I didn't trust Alexander not to send someone after us.
At seven-thirty that evening, Ethan sat cross-legged on the carpet, carefully arranging three toy dinosaurs beside the bed.
He had packed them himself.
A green triceratops.
A red tyrannosaurus.
And a small blue stegosaurus with one missing leg.
I watched him from the doorway.
“Are you hungry?”
He shook his head.
“Maybe some soup?”
Another shake.
I sat beside him.
For a while, we said nothing.
Then he picked up the blue dinosaur.
“Grandma fixed his leg once.”
“I remember.”
“She used tape.”
I smiled sadly.
“She said dinosaurs needed doctors too.”
Ethan looked at me.
“Did Grandma know she was going to die?”
The question caught me completely unprepared.
I took a breath.
“I think she knew she was very sick.”
“Was she scared?”
I remembered my mother's final afternoon.
Her thin fingers wrapped around mine.
The way she'd smiled at Ethan.
The way she'd whispered that he was the bravest boy she'd ever met.
“I think she was sad to leave us,” I answered. “But she knew how much we loved her.”
Ethan looked down.
“Daddy didn't love her.”
My heart tightened.
“Sweetheart—”
“He didn't come.”
I couldn't argue with that.
He continued, “Grandma kept looking at the door.”
Tears burned behind my eyes.
“I know.”
“She asked if Daddy was coming.”
“I know.”
He looked up.
“Did I do something wrong?”
I pulled him into my arms.
“No, Ethan. Absolutely not.”
His little body shook.
“I told Daddy he was mean.”
“You told him you were hurt.”
“He got mad.”
I closed my eyes.
Then whispered, “Adults are responsible for their own behavior. You are not responsible for Daddy's anger.”
He leaned against me.
“Can we stay here forever?”
I looked around the small room.
The cheap curtains.
The humming air conditioner.
The carpet with faded flowers.
Then I looked at my son.
“We're going to find somewhere better.”
He nodded.
“Somewhere with a garden?”
I smiled through tears.
“Maybe.”
“Grandma liked gardens.”
“Yes, she did.”
He rested his head against my shoulder.
“Then I want a garden.”
That night, after Ethan fell asleep, I opened my laptop.
I had worked as a financial analyst before marrying Alexander.
After Ethan was born, Alexander had insisted I stay home.
He'd called it protection.
He'd said I didn't need to work.
He'd made it sound like generosity.
Now I needed income, legal advice, and a safe place to live.
I opened my old résumé.
The last position listed was seven years old.
I stared at it.
Then began updating.
At 11:43 p.m., my phone rang.
Alexander.
I let it ring.
A message followed.
Bring my son home.
Then another.
You are making a serious mistake.
I looked toward Ethan.
He was sleeping with Grandma's photograph beside his pillow.
I typed one sentence.
Our attorneys can discuss custody. Do not contact Ethan directly tonight.
Then I called a family-law attorney recommended by a former colleague.
May you like
For the first time in seven years, I wasn't asking Alexander what I was allowed to do.
I was making plans.
