Chapter 3
My father's hand was on the inside of the door and he didn't let go of it. He'd pushed it open just enough to get his shoulder through and then he stayed there, breathing hard, his coat still on. The warm air from the hallway cut into the penthouse and I could feel it on my ankles.
I had the phone in my hand. I didn't remember picking it up but my fingers were tight around it. The screen was lit and cold against my palm. My daughter was pressed against my leg, her yellow dress wrinkled where she'd clutched it.
He's okay, I said. It came out too quick.
My father looked at me first, then at him. The man in black had stepped back from the sofa but not far. He had his hands down at his sides like he was trying to look calm. His watch caught the recessed light.
Dad, I started, and then I stopped because I didn't know how to finish.
My father didn't move from the door. "We're leaving," he said. He said it to me, not to him.
I looked down at the phone because I needed somewhere to look. There were three missed calls from Dad on the lock screen, all in the last twenty minutes, and two texts underneath. Where are you. Call me. Then I'm downstairs. Pick up. My thumb slid and the call log opened. Below his calls there was a 911 call, eleven seconds, at 4:17. I'd made it when the phone was on the marble. I hadn't remembered dialing. It had cut off before anyone answered. Under that was a search I'd typed with shaking hands: shelter downtown number.
The man in black saw me looking.
"She fell," he said. His voice was even, controlled. "She's eight months pregnant, she's hormonal, she tripped by the coffee table and got upset. It's not what it looked like through the glass."
I felt my jaw tighten. I didn't fall.
My father kept his eyes on him. "Did you put your hands on her?"
"You're reading this wrong," he said. He gave a short laugh that didn't reach his eyes. He looked at me. "Tell him. Tell your father you fell. You know how you get."
I held the phone tighter. The screen dimmed. I could feel my daughter's hand finding mine.
"Don't tell me how I get," I said, quiet.
He held his hands up a little. "I'm saying we had an argument. She wanted to leave, I said stay and talk. That's it."
My father finally stepped fully inside and let the door close behind him but not latch. The electronic lock blinked. "You're not talking anymore," he said to him. Then to me, softer, "Honey. Get her coat. We're going tonight. Right now."
I looked at the sofa, at the rug, at our shoes by the door. My coat was on the chair. Her little pink backpack was by the window. The apartment had everything in it we needed for the night, diapers, the bottle, my prenatal vitamins on the counter. If we left now I'd be waddling to an elevator with a toddler and no bag and eight months pregnant with my feet swelling.
"I can't just —" I said. "She needs her things. I need — I don't have anything packed. Where would we go?"
"You don't need things tonight," my father said. "You need out of this room. We can get things tomorrow. My car is downstairs. You and Lila can sleep at my place."
The man in black took a step forward. "She's not going anywhere like this. She's pregnant. She needs to rest. You're scaring her."
"I'm scaring her?" my father said.
I felt the pull in both directions. Staying meant I could keep the routine, keep her crib, keep the lie that this was still a home. Leaving meant the hallway, the elevator, everyone seeing us, admitting what the lock and the shouting had been about.
Lila tugged on my dress. "Mommy, go," she whispered.
I looked at the phone again. The 911 call was still there, eleven seconds of proof I'd tried. I pressed the side button and the screen went black. I slipped it into my dress pocket.
"Just her coat," I said. My voice shook. "Just the coats."
My father nodded and didn't look away from the man in black while I grabbed Lila's coat from the hook. It was too thin but it was there. I got mine one-handed. I didn't pack a bag. I left the diaper bag, the vitamins, the shoes by the sofa, all of it.
The man in black watched us. "You're making a mistake," he said to me, calm again. "You leave like this and you can't just come back and get whatever you want."
"I know," I said.
May you like
My father put his hand on my back and opened the door with his other hand. The electronic lock gave a soft beep as it released. He held it open for me and Lila. The hallway air was cooler and smelled like cleaning product.
I carried Lila on my hip and walked out first. My father followed us out and pulled the door shut behind us, leaving him inside alone. I heard the lock click, but we were on the other side of it now, standing in the hall by the elevator, with only our coats and the phone in my pocket.
