Chapter 3 - A CITY WHERE NOBODY KNEW MY NAME
Toronto greeted me with rain.
Not the violent thunderstorms of Chicago.
A softer, persistent rain that blurred the streetlights and made the city look unfinished.
I rented a furnished apartment near the waterfront.
One bedroom.
A narrow kitchen.
A balcony overlooking a streetcar line.
It was smaller than Grace's playroom.
I loved it immediately.
Not because it was beautiful.
Because nobody there expected me to be Mrs. Alexander Hayes.
My new employer, Northbridge Urban Development, had offered me a senior project management position.
Before marrying Alexander, I had trained as a civil engineer.
I loved the practical certainty of structures.
A bridge needed support.
A building needed foundations.
Numbers had to balance.
Materials had limits.
You couldn't intimidate concrete into becoming stronger.
I had abandoned much of that career after Grace was born.
Alexander said I didn't need to work.
His mother said wealthy women should focus on their families.
I told myself I was choosing motherhood.
And I was.
But somewhere along the way, my choices had narrowed until they barely existed.
Now I was starting again.
On my first morning, my new supervisor, Priya Nair, showed me around.
She was forty-two, brisk, intelligent, and refreshingly uninterested in my husband's reputation.
“Your portfolio is excellent,” she said.
“Thank you.”
“We have a complicated waterfront rehabilitation project. I think you'll be useful.”
Useful.
The word almost made me smile.
For years, people had valued me for how well I accommodated them.
Priya valued me because I could solve problems.
At lunch, she asked whether I had children.
The question came without warning.
I stared at my sandwich.
“Yes,” I said.
Then corrected myself.
“I had a daughter.”
Priya went still.
“I'm sorry.”
I nodded.
“She was four.”
Priya didn't ask what happened.
She didn't tell me everything happened for a reason.
She simply said, “You can take whatever time you need.”
I looked away before she could see me cry.
That evening, I unpacked Grace's things.
Her yellow raincoat.
Three dresses.
A picture book with bent corners.
Her stuffed rabbit, Mr. Buttons.
I placed the little white urn on a shelf beside the window.
Then I sat on the floor.
“Hi, baby.”
The apartment was silent.
“I made it.”
I waited.
Some irrational part of me expected her voice.
Good job, Mommy!
But there was only rain.
My phone buzzed.
Alexander.
I watched it ring.
Then stop.
A message appeared.
Emily, please tell me you're safe.
I stared at it.
Then typed:
I am safe. Please communicate through Margaret regarding the divorce.
He replied almost immediately.
Can we talk about Grace?
My chest tightened.
I wanted to scream.
I wanted to ask why he needed to talk about her now.
Why he hadn't wanted to talk about her favorite stories, her new shoes, or her school projects while she was alive.
Instead, I wrote:
Not tonight.
Later, Margaret called.
She had arranged representation for me in Canada and was coordinating with Chicago counsel.
“Emily, the police have asked to speak with you again.”
I sat up.
“About the accident?”
“Yes.”
“Did they find the SUV?”
“They haven't told me. But they have additional questions.”
I looked toward Grace's urn.
“Then I'll answer them.”
Margaret hesitated.
“There's one more thing.”
“What?”
“The preschool's records show that someone called the front office that afternoon.”
I went still.
“Who?”
“The caller claimed to be from the Hayes household.”
My mouth went dry.
“What did they say?”
Margaret took a breath.
“They said Alexander was delayed and someone else would collect Grace.”
I stared at the rain.
“But nobody came.”
“I know.”
May you like
“Who made the call?”
“That,” Margaret said quietly, “is what the investigators are trying to establish.”
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