Chapter 2
By the second day, I stopped measuring time by hours.
I measured it by shadows.
The fence shadow moved across the grass.
Then the maple tree shadow reached me.
Then darkness arrived.
Then morning came again.
Aaron seemed to enjoy watching me lose track.
He stepped outside shortly after sunrise carrying toast.
He ate in front of me.
“Hungry?”
I didn’t answer.
He took another bite.
“You could be inside right now.”
My mouth was dry.
“Then let me out.”
He smiled.
“Not until you understand.”
“Understand what?”
“That actions have consequences.”
Something almost like laughter escaped me.
His eyes narrowed.
“You find this funny?”
“No.”
I looked at him.
“I find it interesting that you think consequences only apply to me.”
His expression changed.
For half a second, I saw fear.
Then it vanished.
Aaron leaned closer.
“No one is coming.”
My pulse jumped.
Why would he say that unless he was worried someone might?
I looked away quickly.
He caught the movement.
“Waiting for somebody?”
“No.”
“Your friend Nina?”
My blood went cold.
Aaron stood.
“She called twelve times.”
I kept my face still.
“She worries.”
“I blocked her.”
My heart dropped.
Then he smiled.
“I also texted her from your phone.”
“What did you say?”
“That you were tired and needed a break from everyone.”
I swallowed.
Aaron crouched again.
“You see? Easy.”
He believed that solved everything.
But Nina had known me since we were eleven.
She knew I never wrote “need a break from everyone.”
I usually said I needed quiet.
Aaron did not know that.
Small differences suddenly mattered.
He went inside.
I closed my eyes.
Please notice, Nina.
Please know.
Mara appeared later carrying a garden hose.
She looked uncomfortable.
That surprised me.
Until then, she had treated everything like a cruel performance.
This time, she avoided my eyes.
“Your hair smells.”
I said nothing.
She turned on the hose.
Cold water hit the ground beside my face.
Some splashed into my mouth.
I coughed.
Mara quickly lowered the pressure.
“You okay?”
I stared at her.
The question was so absurd I nearly laughed.
“Do I look okay?”
She glanced toward the house.
“Aaron said you’re fine.”
“Aaron says whatever protects Aaron.”
She shifted.
“You always hated him.”
“He’s my husband.”
“That’s not an answer.”
I studied her face.
Mara was twenty-six.
Young enough to have grown up beneath Diane’s control.
Old enough to know better.
“Why are you helping him?”
Her jaw tightened.
“I’m not helping anybody.”
“You brought the hose.”
“He told me to.”
“And you did it.”
Her eyes flashed.
“You don’t understand our family.”
“No. I understand it perfectly now.”
She stepped closer.
“Stop.”
“Diane controls Aaron. Aaron controls me. And everyone calls it love because admitting what it really is would make all of you uncomfortable.”
“Shut up.”
“You know this is wrong.”
Mara looked toward the porch.
For the first time, she appeared frightened.
Not of me.
Of being overheard.
That told me everything.
I lowered my voice.
“If something happens to my baby, you will have to live with the fact that you stood here.”
Her face lost color.
Then Diane opened the back door.
“Mara.”
Mara jerked away from me.
“What?”
“Inside.”
“I was just—”
“Now.”
Mara dropped the hose.
Before leaving, she looked at me once.
Guilt.
Real guilt.
It was the first crack I had seen.
I stored it away.
Survival was not only about strength.
Sometimes it was about noticing fractures in the people hurting you.
That afternoon, I heard Aaron and Diane arguing through an open kitchen window.
“You said one night,” Mara whispered.
I strained to listen.
Diane answered.
“She hasn’t learned.”
“She’s pregnant.”
“So?”
“So what if something happens?”
Aaron’s voice came next.
“Nothing’s going to happen.”
“You don’t know that,” Mara said.
“She’s breathing.”
My stomach turned.
Diane lowered her voice, but the window carried every word.
“If you panic now, everything we’ve done becomes pointless.”
Mara said, “Everything we’ve done is already insane.”
Silence.
Then Aaron snapped, “Watch yourself.”
I almost smiled.
Mara was turning.
Slowly.
But she was turning.
The hidden phone recorded all of it.
I prayed the microphone could capture voices from that distance.
Then my daughter kicked.
Harder this time.
Relief flooded through me.
“Good girl,” I whispered.
A car passed on the street.
Then another.
Every engine made hope rise.
Every engine fading made it fall again.
Near sunset, Aaron came outside holding my regular phone.
He waved it.
“Nina sent another message.”
I forced myself not to react.
“She wants to come over.”
My heart slammed.
“What did you tell her?”
“That you went away with me.”
“You’re getting sloppy.”
His smile vanished.
“What?”
“Nina knows I don’t travel without telling her.”
Aaron stared.
I shouldn’t have said it.
I knew immediately.
He unlocked my phone.
“What else does Nina know?”
I said nothing.
He stepped closer.
“Claire.”
Silence.
“Did you tell her we argued?”
I looked at the grass.
His breathing changed.
Fear again.
Good.
He grabbed my chin.
Not hard enough to leave a mark.
Hard enough to threaten.
“Answer me.”
I whispered, “You’re afraid.”
He released me.
“I’m not afraid of anything.”
“You’re standing over a woman trapped in dirt trying to convince yourself of that.”
His face twisted.
He raised his hand.
Then stopped.
The phone in his other hand began ringing.
He looked down.
Unknown number.
He answered.
“Yes?”
A pause.
Then his entire posture changed.
“No, officer. Everything is fine.”
My heart exploded.
Officer.
I kept my face down.
Aaron glanced at me.
“Yes. Claire is with me.”
Another pause.
“She’s resting.”
Longer pause.
“No, she can’t come to the phone.”
Diane appeared in the doorway.
Aaron turned away.
“She’s pregnant. She’s exhausted. We’re leaving town later.”
The call ended.
“What?” Diane demanded.
“Police.”
Mara appeared behind her.
“Why?”
“Nina called them.”
I nearly cried.
She knew.
Aaron began pacing.
“They asked for Claire.”
Mara whispered, “Then bring her inside.”
Diane snapped, “No.”
Both turned toward her.
“If police come here and see fresh dirt?”
Aaron stared at the ground around me.
For the first time, his confidence cracked completely.
“What do we do?”
Diane looked at me.
Her eyes were cold.
“We make sure they don’t come into the backyard.”
Aaron nodded.
Then he smiled at me again.
But this smile was different.
Forced.
Desperate.
“You hear that?” he whispered.
“Your friend tried.”
He leaned closer.
“And it changed nothing.”
I looked straight into his eyes.
“You answered the phone.”
His smile faded.
“That means they’re already looking.”
May you like
For the first time since this began, Aaron had no response.
And beneath the dirt beside my shoulder, the recorder kept running.
