Chapter 2
I carried Sophie inside. Door stayed open behind us. Cold November air pushed against my back. Her legs locked around my hips. Her arms stayed around my neck. I didn't let go.
Sophie breathed against my collar. Small breaths, fast at first, then slower. I shifted weight, kicked duffel forward with boot, pulled door shut with shoulder. Lock clicked. Warm porch light died outside. Entryway light buzzed overhead, dim, yellowed.
House smelled wrong. Not dirty, just empty. Heat running low. Air felt still, like rooms had held breath.
I expected noise. Lauren moving in kitchen. TV low. Shoes by mat. None there.
Living room stayed dark except lamp left on low beside couch. Couch cushions dented, throw pillow on floor. Sophie's toys scattered not in bedroom but here, by door. Small plastic cups, board book splayed open, stuffed rabbit facedown. Center of mess: light patterned blanket, folded then messed again into nest. Shape pressed down, child-sized. Spot where Sophie had waited.
My boots crossed blanket edge. Sophie's bare feet brushed against it. I felt chill crawl up spine. Sophie should have been in bed. Not here, barefoot on floor, door waiting.
I set Sophie down but kept hands on her ribs. She didn't step away. She pressed against my leg, fingers twisted in my uniform pants.
"Hey bug," I said. My voice cracked. "You camped by door?"
She nodded against my knee. Looked up, eyes bright.
I scanned room. Bedroom door cracked open, dark inside. No Lauren. Bathroom door open, light off.
Kitchen counter glowed under small under-cabinet light. Plate there. Uncovered. I moved toward it, Sophie trailing, hand holding two of my fingers.
Plate held kid's dinner. Chicken nuggets, cold. Applesauce cup unopened, film still sealed. Milk in sippy cup, skin formed on top. Fork laid neatly beside plate, unused. Dinner sat untouched, portioned for small hands that never ate.
My stomach tightened. Lauren never left food out. Never left milk to skin.
I checked hook by door where Lauren kept keys. Hook empty. Nail bare. No purse on counter. No coat over chair where Lauren always draped coat.
I stepped to front window, pulled blind. Driveway empty where Lauren's gray Subaru should have sat. Street dark, porch across road lit, our concrete bare. Car gone.
Sophie tugged my hand.
"Mommy go?" she said.
I knelt again, eye level. My knees popped. Uniform rustled.
"Yeah, sweetheart. Where Mommy go?" I asked. Kept voice even, quiet.
She shrugged, little shoulders up. "Mommy go bye-bye. Said wait."
"Wait for Daddy?"
She nodded hard. "Wait for Daddy on blanket. Mommy said stay."
Words simple, toddler logic, no time sense.
"When Mommy go bye-bye?" I asked.
She held up hand, fingers splayed. No number, just gesture she'd seen adults use. Then pointed to plate. "Dinner. Mommy said don't move."
My throat went dry. Lauren left while dinner sat. Left door unlocked enough for Sophie to reach blanket by threshold. Left Sophie alone, briefly. Intentionally.
Not abandonment. Calculation. Lauren timed departure, told Sophie to stay on blanket, expected my arrival window. She left keys, left car, left dinner as placeholder. She chose not to be here when I knelt.
I looked again at nest. Blanket had been smoothed, then scrunched where Sophie shifted, waited. Edges curled from small feet. Sophie had obeyed literal instruction: stay.
I pulled duffel just inside door. Canvas scraped floor. Left it by wall, unopened, zipper closed. Weight settled against siding inside now, not outside. Symbol remained: I came, I stayed, I didn't unpack.
May you like
I lifted Sophie again. She melted against chest, head on shoulder. Her hair smelled like kid shampoo, faint, sweet. I held her with one arm, other hand resting on window trim, watching empty driveway.
Need to locate Lauren now replaced need to catch breath. Sophie safe in arms, house dim around us, blanket holding shape of waiting on floor.
