Chapter 2
My father moved so fast Drea stumbled backward.
He did not touch her.
He did not have to.
The look on his face made her shrink against the patio table.
“Call 911,” he said.
Three people pulled out phones at once.
Drea lifted both hands.
“Ethan, listen to me.”
“No.”
“You don’t understand what she’s done.”
“My wife is locked in my pool house.”
“Your ex-wife,” Drea snapped.
The word hit the patio like a slap.
My mother flinched.
I felt it through her arms.
Dad heard it too.
His face twisted.
“She was never my ex-wife.”
Drea’s mouth opened.
Then closed.
That was the first crack.
I clung to my mother, afraid she might disappear if I let go.
She smelled like dust and sweat and the peppermint lotion she used to rub on my hands when I had nightmares.
Her body felt too thin.
Too cold.
But she was real.
She was breathing.
She was mine.
“Mom,” I sobbed. “I knew you didn’t leave.”
Her hand shook against my back.
“I tried to get to you.”
Drea laughed from the doorway.
A sharp, ugly sound.
“She’s lying. She’s always lied. Ethan, think. Why would I lock someone in a pool house during a party?”
Dad turned slowly.
“That is what I’m going to find out.”
Sirens sounded in the distance.
Guests backed away as if the whole yard had become dangerous.
My aunt Grace, Dad’s sister, ran to us with a blanket from the patio sofa.
She dropped to her knees beside Mom and wrapped it around her shoulders.
“Lena,” she whispered. “Oh my God. Lena.”
Mom looked at her.
“Grace.”
Grace started crying.
“I believed them.”
Mom’s eyes filled.
“I know.”
That hurt more than yelling would have.
Because my mother sounded tired.
Not angry.
Tired from being erased.
The police came through the side gate with paramedics.
A female officer knelt near us.
“My name is Officer Reed. We’re going to help you.”
Mom tightened her arms around me.
“Don’t take Calla away.”
“I’m staying,” I said.
Dad knelt beside us.
His hands hovered, afraid to touch her.
“Lena.”
Mom looked at him.
For one second, I saw something pass between them.
Love.
Pain.
Betrayal.
All tangled together.
Then Mom asked the question that broke him.
“Did you know?”
Dad’s face collapsed.
“No.”
Drea shouted, “She is manipulating you!”
Officer Reed stood.
“Ma’am, step away from the doorway.”
Drea lifted her chin.
“I live here.”
“This is a crime scene.”
Drea looked toward the guests.
Toward the cameras.
Toward the phones recording everything.
Her face changed again.
She softened.
Cried.
“I found her here yesterday,” she said. “I didn’t know what to do.”
My mother’s fingers dug into my sweater.
Dad stared.
“Yesterday?”
“I was scared,” Drea cried. “Lena came back unstable. She was threatening to take Calla. I locked the door so she wouldn’t hurt anyone.”
“You gave a speech about new beginnings twenty minutes ago,” Grace said.
Drea glared at her.
Officer Reed looked at Mom.
“Mrs. Whitmore, can you tell us how long you have been here?”
Mom’s lips trembled.
“I don’t know. Not the whole time. She moved me.”
The patio went silent.
Moved her.
Dad whispered, “From where?”
Mom looked at Drea.
Then at him.
“The old lake house.”
Dad turned pale.
The old lake house belonged to his family.
It had been empty since my grandmother died.
I remembered going there with Mom when I was little.
I remembered Drea saying it was sold.
Mom kept talking, her voice faint.
“She kept me there first. Then here this week because of the sale inspection.”
Drea screamed, “Stop lying!”
Two officers moved toward her.
She tried to run.
She made it three steps before the security guard blocked her.
Officer Reed took her wrists.
Drea thrashed.
“This is her fault! She was supposed to stay gone!”
Everyone heard it.
Supposed to stay gone.
Dad closed his eyes.
My mother started shaking harder.
The paramedics lifted her carefully onto a stretcher.
I would not let go of her hand.
When they tried to guide me away, I screamed until Dad said, “Let her ride.”
So I rode in the ambulance.
My mother kept looking at me like she was afraid I might be a dream.
I held her hand with both of mine.
“Mommy,” I whispered, because ten years old suddenly felt too old and too young at the same time.
She turned her head.
“Yes, moonbug.”
“Why did everyone say you left?”
Tears rolled into her hair.
“Because Drea made them believe I wanted to.”
“But you didn’t.”
“No.”
Her voice cracked.
“I never left you.”
I pressed my face to her hand.
And for the first time in eighteen months, I stopped wondering if my mother had chosen a life without me.
May you like
She had not left.
She had been stolen.
