Chapter 4: The Suitcase By The Door
The balloons had sunk by eight o'clock. They hung low against the cream wall, the pink one touching the hardwood, the purple one tipped on its side by the window. The cake was still on the floor where it had fallen. White frosting smeared on the purple base, blue decorations crushed into it. No one had picked it up.
I knelt by the open suitcase and zipped it. The sound was loud in the quiet house. Sophia sat on the rug with her doll in her lap, both in their lavender dresses. She wasn't crying anymore, just holding the doll tight against her chest, her thumb rubbing its hair. My son stood next to the sofa in his navy shirt, watching me.
I had folded their jackets and put them on top of the clothes that were already in the suitcase. The little white socks. The extra shirts. I found the tiny spare outfit for Sophia's doll, the one with the matching lavender bow, and tucked it in beside her pink sweater. My hands were shaking and I tried to breathe slowly so the kids wouldn't see it.
My phone was on the rug beside me. I had the screenshots, but when I tried to open the Memo Savings app again it asked for a verification code and then said session expired. I was locked out. I stared at the login screen until it went dark.
I picked up the phone and called my sister.
It rang four times and went to voicemail. Her voice, quick and bright: "Hey, it's Maya, leave a message." I didn't leave one. I hung up and called again. Same thing. Four rings, voicemail. I held the phone in both hands and looked at the front door.
Diego came out of the kitchen. He'd taken his suit jacket off, sleeves still buttoned at the wrists, tie loosened. He didn't raise his voice. He walked to the front door and stood in front of it, his back not quite touching it, his hands in his pockets. Calm.
"Where are you going to go right now?" he said.
I didn't answer right away. Sophia looked up at him, then at me.
"I was going to go to Maya's," I said. "For tonight."
He nodded like he understood. "It's almost nine. It's dark. Driving with them when you're upset, when they're tired. That's not safe, Veronica."
I felt my jaw tighten. "I'll be careful."
He didn't move. "Sleep on it. We'll talk tomorrow when everyone's had rest. I can take you in the morning if you still want to go. But not like this."
My son came closer to me and put his hand on my arm. His palm was warm. I could hear the refrigerator humming in the kitchen. The house was too quiet. I looked at the suitcase, zipped and ready, its handle up. I looked at the door behind Diego.
Teresa came in from the hallway. She was still in the burgundy dress, her pearls catching the lamplight. She carried the brown leather belt folded in half, not over her head anymore, held low in both hands like it was laundry. She walked to the entry table by the front door, right next to where Diego stood, and set it down. She smoothed it flat, buckle to one side.
She didn't say anything about it. She just placed it there and left her hand on it for a second before letting go. Then she folded her hands and looked at me.
I understood what she was doing. Putting it away, but not away. Leaving it where I would have to see it to leave.
My phone screen lit up. No return call. Just the lock screen, my own reflection.
I stood up. My legs felt stiff from kneeling. I pulled the suitcase handle and rolled it the two feet to the wall beside the front door, not to the door itself, but close enough that it rested there against the trim. I let go of the handle.
"Okay," I said. My voice was small. "Not tonight."
Diego stepped away from the door. He didn't touch me. "Thank you," he said. "That's better. We'll figure the money thing out tomorrow."
Teresa nodded once. She picked up a balloon string that had drifted near her shoes and tucked it behind the table leg.
I lifted Sophia up. She wrapped her legs around me and held her doll out so it wouldn't get squeezed. My son took my hand. I carried them down the hall to their room. The night light was already on, soft yellow. I laid Sophia in her bed with the doll and pulled the blanket up to her shoulders. My son climbed in next to her. They always did that when they were nervous.
May you like
I closed the bedroom door and turned the lock. It was a small push-button lock, the kind for privacy, not security, but it clicked.
I sat on the floor with my back against the door and listened. I could hear Diego's low voice in the living room, and Teresa answering. Footsteps. The sound of the kitchen light switching off. I kept my phone tight in my hand, the screenshots still there in my photos even if the app wouldn't open. The suitcase was out there by the front door. The belt was on the table beside it. And I was in here with my kids, the door locked, waiting for morning.
