Chapter 7
We didn’t go directly to Emily’s house.
Detective Alvarez asked Michael to come to the station first.
I wanted to stay with him.
But Noah had already spent too much time in hospitals and waiting rooms.
So Emily picked us up.
Michael kissed Noah before getting into Alvarez’s unmarked car.
Then he kissed me.
He hesitated afterward, as if unsure whether he still had the right.
I squeezed his hand.
“Go.”
“I’ll call.”
“Okay.”
At Emily’s house, everything felt unfamiliar but safe.
No Patricia walking down the hallway without knocking.
No Patricia checking bottles.
No Patricia listening outside doors.
Emily had placed a bassinet beside the guest bed.
A small stack of diapers sat on the dresser.
I stared at them and cried.
Emily wrapped her arms around me.
“I’m sorry.”
“I’m so tired.”
“I know.”
“I feel stupid.”
“Why?”
“Because I kept thinking I could manage her.”
Emily pulled back.
“Sarah, Patricia manipulated an entire family for decades.”
“I’m Noah’s mother.”
“And you protected him.”
“Not soon enough.”
“You took him to doctors.”
“I left him alone with her.”
“You didn’t know.”
I looked at Noah sleeping in his car seat.
“What if something had happened?”
“But it didn’t.”
“Barely.”
Emily took my face in her hands.
“You can spend the rest of your life punishing yourself for not knowing something someone intentionally hid from you, or you can use what you know now.”
I nodded.
I wanted to believe her.
Two hours later, Michael called.
His voice sounded different.
Empty.
“Are you okay?”
“No.”
“What did your dad say?”
He breathed out slowly.
“Everything.”
I sat on the edge of the bed.
“Tell me.”
“Mom started giving Rebecca medication when she was six.”
My stomach turned.
“Why?”
“She was energetic.”
“That’s it?”
“According to Dad.”
“What medication?”
“An antihistamine. Sometimes more than one dose.”
“Oh God.”
“Dad found out after Rebecca passed out at a birthday party.”
I closed my eyes.
“He confronted Mom. She promised she’d stop.”
“But she didn’t.”
“No.”
Michael’s voice cracked.
“She started putting it in his drinks instead.”
“Why?”
“He said she wanted him calm too.”
I didn’t know what to say.
“He worked nights. They fought constantly. He said Mom would put sleep medication in his coffee when she wanted him to stay home.”
“Coffee?”
“He’d get dizzy. Miss work. Then she’d tell everyone he was unreliable.”
I felt cold.
“What happened?”
“He started suspecting her.”
“And left?”
“He tried.”
Michael went quiet.
“Mom threatened to tell police he abused us.”
My mouth went dry.
“Did he?”
“No.”
“You believe him?”
“Rebecca confirmed it.”
“What?”
“She remembers Mom telling Dad that if he left, she’d make sure he never saw us again.”
I leaned against the wall.
“Why didn’t he fight for custody?”
“He did.”
“But?”
“Mom had records.”
I already knew what he was going to say.
“Records saying your dad was unstable.”
“Yes.”
“Like the file she kept on me.”
“Yes.”
Michael began crying.
Not loudly.
That made it worse.
“She took him from us.”
I squeezed the phone.
“I’m sorry.”
“He wasn’t perfect. He admitted that. He drank too much after they separated. He got arrested once for fighting.”
“So Patricia had things she could use.”
“Exactly.”
“But he didn’t abandon you.”
“No.”
Michael breathed shakily.
“He sent birthday cards.”
“What happened to them?”
“Mom returned them.”
I closed my eyes.
“He sent money.”
“And?”
“She told us it came from her overtime.”
My heart broke for him.
“She lied about everything.”
“Almost.”
“Did you meet him?”
“Not yet. Alvarez interviewed him first.”
“Do you want to?”
“Yes.”
The answer was immediate.
“But I’m terrified.”
“That makes sense.”
“He asked if I have kids.”
My throat tightened.
“What did you say?”
“I told him about Noah.”
“And?”
“He started crying.”
I looked at my sleeping son.
“Michael…”
“He said he’d been checking social media for years hoping to find me or Rebecca. He found Rebecca once, but she blocked him.”
“Because Patricia told her to?”
“Yes.”
A pause.
“Sarah, there’s more.”
My stomach dropped again.
“What?”
“Dad kept documents.”
“What kind?”
“Old court filings. Letters from doctors. Pharmacy receipts.”
“What do they show?”
“That Mom had been buying sleep medicines constantly.”
“Can that prove anything after all these years?”
“I don’t know.”
“But it supports his story.”
“Yes.”
Michael sounded exhausted.
“Alvarez thinks the pattern matters.”
I looked toward Noah.
“For us?”
“For the investigation.”
We ended the call after Michael promised to come to Emily’s soon.
But he didn’t arrive until almost midnight.
When he walked through the door, I barely recognized him.
His face was pale.
His eyes swollen.
He held a cardboard box.
“What’s that?”
“My dad gave it to me.”
Emily quietly took Noah into the living room to give us privacy.
Michael placed the box on the kitchen table.
Inside were years.
Birthday cards returned unopened.
Letters addressed to Michael.
School photographs David had somehow obtained.
Copies of child support checks.
Court petitions.
Photographs.
One showed Michael at six years old sitting on his father’s shoulders.
Michael picked it up.
“I don’t remember this.”
I stood beside him.
“You were little.”
“He kept it.”
Another photograph showed Rebecca asleep on a couch.
The date was written on the back.
Michael stared at it.
“Dad says this was after the birthday party.”
The party where Rebecca had passed out.
He put the picture down quickly.
Then he pulled out a folded letter.
“What is that?”
“He wrote it to me when I turned eighteen.”
“Did Patricia return it?”
“No.”
“He never sent it.”
“Why?”
“He thought I’d reject him.”
Michael opened the letter.
He read silently.
Then sat down.
“What does it say?”
He handed it to me.
I read only a few lines before tears blurred the page.
David wrote that he loved his son.
That he was sorry Michael believed he had chosen to leave.
That someday, if Michael wanted answers, he would give them without asking for forgiveness.
I handed the letter back.
“Are you going to see him?”
“Tomorrow.”
“Do you want me there?”
Michael thought about it.
“Yes.”
“Then I’ll come.”
The next afternoon, Emily watched Noah while Michael and I drove to Tucson.
We met David at a quiet restaurant.
He was sixty-three.
Tall.
Gray hair.
Michael’s eyes.
The moment Michael saw him, he stopped walking.
David stood.
Neither moved.
Then David said, “You look like my father.”
Michael’s face broke.
“So do you.”
David laughed through tears.
Then they hugged.
It wasn’t cinematic.
It wasn’t neat.
Michael stiffened at first.
Then his arms went around his father.
David held on like he had waited half a lifetime.
I turned away because it felt too private.
We spent three hours talking.
David never claimed to be innocent of everything.
He admitted he drank during the divorce.
Admitted he became angry.
Admitted he gave up too soon after years of court battles.
“I should have kept fighting,” he told Michael.
Michael stared at him.
“Why didn’t you?”
“Because your mother convinced me that every time I appeared, I made things worse for you.”
“She lied.”
“I know that now.”
“You should’ve known then.”
David’s eyes filled.
“You’re right.”
Michael looked away.
There was no easy reunion.
No instant forgiveness.
But there was truth.
Before we left, David asked about Noah.
Michael showed him a picture.
David smiled.
“He’s beautiful.”
“He is.”
“Can I meet him someday?”
Michael hesitated.
“Someday.”
David nodded.
“That’s more than I deserve today.”
On the drive home, Michael barely spoke.
Then, halfway back to Phoenix, my phone rang.
Detective Alvarez.
“Mrs. Turner?”
“Yes.”
“We need to talk about Patricia.”
My body tensed.
“What happened?”
“She was served with an emergency protective order this afternoon.”
“Okay.”
“She violated it less than an hour later.”
My heart started pounding.
“How?”
“She went to your sister’s house.”
I slammed my hand against the dashboard.
“What?”
Michael looked at me.
“What happened?”
I put the call on speaker.
Alvarez continued.
“Your sister was not home.”
Relief hit me.
“Noah?”
“With your sister?”
“Yes.”
“Then who was there?”
“No one.”
Michael gripped the steering wheel.
“What did Mom do?”
Alvarez hesitated.
“She attempted to enter through the back door.”
My skin went cold.
“Attempted?”
“A neighbor called police.”
Michael whispered, “Jesus.”
“She left before officers arrived.”
“So where is she now?” I asked.
“We’re locating her.”
“You mean you don’t know?”
“Not yet.”
I looked at Michael.
“Turn around.”
“What?”
“Emily has Noah.”
“She’s not home yet.”
“She will be.”
I called my sister.
No answer.
Again.
No answer.
My breathing became shallow.
“Keep calling,” Michael said.
Third time.
Fourth.
Then Emily answered.
“Hey, I’m driving—”
“Where are you?”
“Two minutes from home.”
“Don’t go there.”
“What?”
“Patricia tried to break in.”
Silence.
Then Emily said, “I have Noah with me.”
“I know. Keep driving.”
“Where?”
“Police station.”
“Sarah, what the hell?”
“Please.”
“Okay.”
We turned back toward Phoenix.
Then Emily gasped.
“What?”
“Sarah.”
“What?”
“There’s a car behind me.”
My blood froze.
“What car?”
“A silver SUV.”
Michael and I looked at each other.
May you like
Patricia drove a silver SUV.
“Emily,” I whispered, “do not stop.”
