Chapter 1 - The blanket in the closet
The blanket frightened me more than the lock.
Locks can be impulsive.
A blanket means someone planned for a child to stay.
I was standing in our hallway with Perry pressed against my chest when he pointed into the laundry closet.
A small blue pillow lay against the wall.
Beside it:
His dinosaur blanket.
Folded.
Neatly.
Not dropped there by accident.
Not carried in by Perry.
Prepared.
“Daddy put my blanket in there yesterday.”
My husband stopped breathing.
Constance did not.
“Stop lying! Locking him away was your idea!”
Reid’s face changed.
“MOM, SHUT UP!”
Then she said:
“Why? She signs custody tomorrow anyway!”
Silence.
The dinner guests in the next room heard every word.
Six people.
Two senior partners from Reid’s firm.
Their spouses.
A potential client.
One family friend.
No one moved.
I looked at Reid.
“Custody?”
He took one step toward me.
“Winslet, please.”
“No.”
“It isn’t what she means.”
Constance laughed.
“She knows exactly what I mean.”
“Mom.”
“You’ve spent six weeks preparing for it.”
My arms tightened around Perry.
Reid’s eyes went toward the guests.
That told me something important.
Even now, image came first.
I said:
“Everybody leave.”
Reid stared.
“This is my house too.”
“I wasn’t speaking to you.”
The guests began collecting coats.
One of Reid’s partners, Martin Shaw, paused beside him.
“Handle your family.”
Reid’s jaw tightened.
The front door closed.
Then there were four of us.
Perry.
Me.
My husband.
May you like
His mother.
And a laundry closet that had apparently been waiting for my son.
