Chapter 2
For several seconds, nobody moved.
Noah’s cries filled the room.
Milk dripped from the ends of his tiny hair onto my shirt.
Linda wiped at her cheek.
Ryan stared at the floor.
And I stared at my husband.
“What do you mean, again?”
Ryan looked up.
“Sarah—”
“No.”
My voice shook.
“You don’t get to say my name like that. You just said she promised she would never do this again.”
Linda stepped between us.
“He’s tired. He doesn’t know what he’s saying.”
“Move.”
“Excuse me?”
“I said move.”
Something in my face must have frightened her because she actually stepped aside.
I looked at Ryan.
“What happened before?”
He rubbed both hands over his face.
“It’s complicated.”
“No, complicated is taxes. Complicated is fixing a transmission. Your mother just poured milk over our infant son because he was crying, and you acted like you’ve seen this before.”
Linda scoffed.
“I raised three children.”
Ryan flinched.
That was all I needed to see.
I turned toward her.
“What did you do to them?”
Her mouth opened.
Nothing came out.
Then Ryan said, “Sarah, take Noah upstairs.”
I laughed.
It sounded strange even to me.
“You’re ordering me upstairs?”
“I’m trying to calm this down.”
“You had three months to tell me something was wrong.”
“I didn’t know she’d—”
He stopped.
My stomach tightened.
“You didn’t know she’d what?”
Linda suddenly grabbed her purse from the armchair.
“This is ridiculous. I’m leaving.”
Ryan caught her arm.
“Mom.”
She jerked free.
“Don’t touch me.”
“You can’t just leave.”
“I certainly can.”
I stepped in front of the doorway.
“No.”
Her eyes narrowed.
“You think you can keep me here?”
“No. But before you walk out, you’re going to tell me what my husband is hiding.”
She laughed.
“You married a weak man. That’s what he’s hiding.”
Ryan’s face went white.
“Mom, shut up.”
“You always were weak,” she continued. “Ever since you were a boy.”
Ryan’s jaw tightened.
I looked from him to her.
Then to the locked drawer.
The drawer was built into the old wooden cabinet beside the entryway.
It had always been there.
But before Noah was born, it had never been locked.
Three days after we brought Noah home from the hospital, I saw Ryan install a small brass lock.
When I asked why, he said it contained old family documents.
When I asked why family documents suddenly needed a lock, he kissed my forehead and told me not to worry.
At the time, I had been exhausted.
I let it go.
Now I pointed at it.
“Open that drawer.”
Ryan didn’t move.
“Sarah.”
“Open it.”
“There’s nothing in there that matters right now.”
“Then opening it shouldn’t be a problem.”
Linda’s face had become very still.
That scared me more than her anger.
I shifted Noah against my shoulder.
He was beginning to quiet down, tiny hiccups shaking his body.
I kissed his wet forehead.
Then I looked at Ryan again.
“Either you open it, or Noah and I leave tonight.”
His head snapped up.
“You’re not taking my son.”
The words came too quickly.
Too sharply.
The entire room seemed to change.
I stared at him.
“Your son?”
“I didn’t mean it like that.”
“That’s exactly how you meant it.”
He stepped toward me.
I stepped backward.
He stopped immediately.
For the first time in seven years of knowing Ryan, I was afraid of him.
Not because he had hit me.
He never had.
Not because he was shouting.
He wasn’t.
I was afraid because I suddenly realized there was a version of my husband I had never met.
Linda smiled.
It was small.
Almost satisfied.
“See?” she said. “He finally found his backbone.”
Ryan spun around.
“Get out.”
Linda blinked.
“What?”
“I said get out.”
“You need me.”
“No.”
His voice broke.
“I needed you to be different.”
She stared at him.
Then she laughed.
“You think that wife of yours is going to stay after she sees what’s in there?”
My heart slammed against my ribs.
Ryan closed his eyes.
That sentence ended everything.
I moved toward the drawer.
Ryan blocked me.
“Sarah, please.”
“Move.”
“I need to explain first.”
“You’ve had years to explain.”
“Not like this.”
I looked down at Noah.
Then I handed him carefully to Ryan.
He seemed surprised.
“Hold him.”
Ryan took our son automatically.
His whole body softened the second Noah settled against his chest.
I reached into the ceramic bowl on the entry table and grabbed the small metal letter opener.
Ryan’s eyes widened.
“Sarah.”
I shoved the tip into the gap beside the lock.
“Don’t.”
I twisted.
The wood cracked.
Linda screamed.
“What are you doing?”
I twisted again.
The brass latch tore loose.
The drawer slid open.
At first, I saw papers.
A stack of envelopes.
An old photograph.
Then a hospital bracelet.
A tiny blue hospital bracelet.
I picked it up.
The name printed on it was faded, but still readable.
RYAN WALKER.
DATE OF BIRTH: APRIL 12, 1989.
I frowned.
Ryan’s birthday was April 12.
I looked deeper.
There was another bracelet.
This one was pink.
EMILY WALKER.
Same date of birth.
My throat tightened.
“Who’s Emily?”
Nobody answered.
I picked up the photograph.
A young Linda sat in a hospital bed.
She looked exhausted.
In each arm, she held a newborn.
Twins.
Ryan leaned against the wall.
Noah was still in his arms.
“Tell her,” Linda said quietly.
Ryan didn’t answer.
Linda looked at me.
“Ryan had a twin sister.”
“Had?”
My fingers tightened around the photograph.
Linda’s face showed no sadness.
No grief.
Nothing.
“She died.”
“How?”
Ryan whispered, “Mom.”
But Linda kept staring at me.
“She wouldn’t stop crying.”
The photograph slipped from my fingers.
I looked at Ryan.
His eyes were wet.
“No.”
He nodded once.
Slowly.
I could barely hear my own voice.
“What happened?”
Ryan sat down on the couch with Noah.
For the first time since I had known him, my husband looked like a terrified little boy.
“I was six months old,” he said.
“My sister Emily and I shared a crib.”
Linda turned toward the window.
Ryan continued.
“My dad was working nights. Mom was alone with us.”
“I was exhausted,” Linda snapped.
Ryan ignored her.
“Emily had colic. She cried constantly.”
My stomach twisted.
“One night, Mom lost her temper.”
Linda’s head snapped around.
“I did not lose my temper.”
“You put her in the bathtub.”
The room went silent.
My skin turned cold.
Ryan looked at me.
“She said cold water would teach Emily to stop screaming.”
I covered my mouth.
“No.”
“My father came home early.”
Ryan swallowed.
“He found Emily unconscious.”
Linda slammed her purse onto the table.
“She was alive when he found her.”
Ryan’s voice rose.
“She died two days later.”
Noah stirred.
Ryan immediately lowered his voice.
Linda’s expression hardened.
“The doctors said it could have been an accident.”
“The police didn’t.”
I looked at Ryan.
“What happened to her?”
“She was arrested.”
Linda laughed bitterly.
“For six months.”
“Eighteen months,” Ryan corrected.
My knees felt weak.
“You let this woman stay in our house?”
Ryan stood quickly.
“I thought she’d changed.”
“You left her alone with Noah.”
“I never thought—”
“You knew.”
“I thought she’d changed!”
His voice cracked so loudly Noah began crying again.
Ryan instantly rocked him.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered to our son.
But I couldn’t hear apologies anymore.
I looked back inside the drawer.
There were court documents.
Newspaper clippings.
Letters.
And one newer envelope.
My name was written across the front.
SARAH.
I reached for it.
Ryan moved toward me.
“Don’t.”
I pulled it away.
“Why is my name on this?”
He looked at Linda.
Linda’s lips pressed together.
I tore the envelope open.
Inside was a typed document.
The first line made my vision blur.
PETITION FOR TEMPORARY GRANDPARENT CONSERVATORSHIP.
I read farther.
My name appeared repeatedly.
So did Noah’s.
Then words that made my blood run cold.
POSTPARTUM INSTABILITY.
EMOTIONAL OUTBURSTS.
UNSAFE MATERNAL CONDUCT.
I looked up.
“What is this?”
Ryan said nothing.
Linda did.
“It’s insurance.”
“Insurance against what?”
“Against you.”
I stared at her.
May you like
She nodded toward her cheek.
“And after what you just did, sweetheart, I’d say you gave me exactly what I needed.”
