Chapter 2 - The Face on the Glowing Screen
“Mom,” Ava whispered, “that's the lady Dad told us we're going to live with after you move out.”
I stared at the glowing screen of the tablet. My vision blurred, and for a second, the room seemed to tilt. The woman in the photograph was beautiful in a sharp, expensive way. She had blonde hair cut in a sleek bob, a cashmere coat, and a smile that looked practiced. She was holding my five-year-old son’s hand. Oliver was looking up at her, laughing at something she had just said. Matthew stood on her other side, his arm resting casually around her waist.
They looked like a family. A proper family of four.
“When did he show you this?” My voice didn't sound like my own. It sounded hollow, scraped out from the inside.
Ava rubbed her eyes, smudging her tears into the sleeves of her green sweater. “He didn't show me. I saw it on his phone last week when he asked me to set his alarm. I asked who she was, and he got really mad. He grabbed the phone and said she was a friend of Grandma’s. But then… then he told me that sometimes, adults need to make changes to be happy. And that I was going to have a lot of fun living with my real dad in North Carolina.”
My chest tightened. It wasn't just an affair. It was an eviction.
I scrolled up through the messages between Matthew and Diane. My hands were shaking so badly I kept tapping the wrong parts of the screen.
Diane: Is she still going to the nursing conference?Matthew: Yes. Flight leaves the 3rd. I’ll pack the boys' things the night before.Diane: Make sure you get the house keys back. Chloe is eager to start redecorating the nursery. And tell Jason his check cleared.
I stopped breathing.
Tell Jason his check cleared.
Jason. Ava’s biological father. The man who barely called on birthdays. Matthew had been paying him. He was paying my ex-husband to take my daughter away so he could replace me with a woman named Chloe.
“Mom?” Ava touched my arm, her small fingers trembling. “Are you mad at me?”
“Oh, baby, no.” I pulled her against my chest, burying my face in her hair. “No, I love you so much. I'm not mad at you. None of this is your fault.”
I heard the rumble of an engine outside. Headlights swept across the bedroom wall, casting long, distorted shadows across the ceiling. Matthew was home. He had left his parents' house to come deal with his "hysterical" wife.
I wiped my face and stood up. I took the tablet, locked it, and shoved it under Ava’s mattress. “I want you to stay in here,” I whispered, keeping my voice steady. “Lock the door. Do not open it until I tell you to. Understand?”
Ava nodded, her eyes wide and terrified.
I stepped out of the bedroom and walked down the hallway. I heard the front door open. Matthew stepped into the entryway, brushing a light dusting of snow off his expensive wool coat. He looked annoyed, exhaling a sharp breath as he hung his keys on the hook by the door.
“Rachel, this is ridiculous,” he said, not even looking at me. “You caused an absolute scene at my mother's house. Kevin’s wife is still talking about it. You need to stop being so overly dramatic and sit down so we can talk like adults.”
“Talk about what?” I asked, standing at the end of the hall.
“About the summer,” he lied smoothly. He walked into the kitchen, opening the fridge to grab a bottle of water. “Ava is twelve. She needs her father. We’re just trying to do what’s best for everyone. You’re stressed with your night shifts, and we need to restructure our lives.”
I watched him drink the water. He was so calm. So practiced. For eight years, I had washed his clothes, cooked his meals, and believed every word he said.
“Where were you last Tuesday?” I asked.
He paused, the bottle halfway to his mouth. “What?”
“Last Tuesday. When you said you were working late at the firm. I had a twelve-hour shift at the hospital. Who watched the boys?”
“My mother did,” he said quickly. A beat too quickly. “Why?”
“I found a receipt in Oliver's pocket yesterday,” I said. It was a lie, a sudden test. “From a children's museum. He said a lady named Chloe took him.”
Matthew’s face froze. The slight flush of the cold air drained from his cheeks. “Oliver has an active imagination.”
“Does he?”
I stepped closer to him. As I did, I noticed the heavy wool coat he’d draped over the chair. One of the pockets was sagging. I reached out and slid my hand inside.
“Hey, what are you doing?” Matthew lunged forward, but I had already pulled it out.
It wasn't a receipt. It was a thick, brass key attached to a leather keychain with a Mercedes logo. We didn't own a Mercedes.
“Give me that,” he snapped, his voice dropping its gentle, condescending tone.
“Whose key is this, Matthew?”
“It’s a client's. Give it back.”
He reached for me, grabbing my wrist hard enough to bruise. I gasped and yanked my arm away. The key slipped from my fingers and hit the hardwood floor with a sharp, heavy clatter. It split open a folded piece of paper that had been tucked inside the keychain ring.
I dropped to my knees and snatched the paper before he could. I unfolded it. It was a printed itinerary.
Two adult tickets. Two child tickets. One way. To Geneva, Switzerland.
Departure date: January 4th. The second day of my nursing conference.
Passenger names: Matthew Hayes. Chloe Hayes. Noah Hayes. Oliver Hayes.
I looked up at him. The man I had slept next to for nearly a decade.
He wasn't just kicking me out. He was stealing my children.
May you like
Matthew stared down at me, his eyes dark and empty. Then, his phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out, looked at the screen, and smiled a cold, terrifying smile.
“My mother just picked up the boys,” he said softly. “They’re staying at her house tonight.”
