Leo had become very still in the cart, watching me with the wide-eyed fear he always showed when adults used the wrong tone.
“Mommy?”
“It’s okay, baby.”
It was not okay.
I stared at Nora, memorizing her face, the paint beneath her thumbnail, and the loose braid resting over her shoulder.
Then I spun the cart around and hurried out of the store.
“Mommy?” Leo called.
I did not answer.
I kept pushing until we reached the parking lot.
My fingers shook uncontrollably as I strapped him into his car seat.
Once I was behind the wheel, I pulled out my phone and called Mark.
The call went directly to voicemail.
I called again.
Voicemail.
On the third attempt, the same polite recorded voice invited me to leave a message, but I could not find a single sentence that felt large enough.
“Where is Daddy?” Leo asked from the back seat.
“I don’t know, sweetheart.”
“Is Daddy in trouble?”
I looked at him through the rearview mirror.
“Why would Daddy be in trouble?”
He hesitated, chewing the inside of his cheek exactly the way Mark did.
“I wasn’t supposed to tell about the lady.”
“I know, baby.”
“Daddy said it’s a surprise. He said if I told, the surprise would be broken.”
The drive home lasted only seven minutes, but it felt like an hour.
All I could picture was the locked guest room.
When we arrived, I left the groceries in the car and carried Leo inside on my hip.
“Stay down here,” I told him, placing him on the couch and switching on the television. “Mommy needs to check something.”
I climbed the stairs two at a time.
The guest room door remained locked.
I shook the handle.
Twisted it until my wrist hurt.
Then I pressed my forehead against the wood and tried to breathe.
“Mark,” I whispered into the empty hallway. “What did you do?”
Small footsteps sounded behind me.
Leo had followed, one hand curled around the banister.
“Mommy,” he said in the overly loud whisper five-year-olds believed was quiet. “I’m not supposed to say.”
“Leo, honey, please go back downstairs.”
“But there’s a surprise inside.” He climbed the final two steps. “Daddy has the key. He keeps it in his work bag. He said only him and the lady can open it ’cause the surprise isn’t done.”
I shut my eyes.
Every clue lined up neatly and formed a picture I had already finished creating.
A locked room.
A hidden key.
A woman visiting only when I was gone.
A child instructed to keep quiet.
A husband who would not answer his phone.
I lowered myself onto the top step.
Leo sat beside me and rested his warm head against my arm.
“Are you mad, Mommy?”
“I’m not mad at you.”
“Are you mad at Daddy?”
I did not respond.
