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Prologue
Red brake lights seem to go on for miles as I wait in the long line of stop-and-go traffic, anxiously tapping my fingers against the steering wheel. The sound reverberates around the small space—tap, tap, tap—spiking my nerves. Biting my lip, my gaze strays back down to my purse resting on the floor beneath the passenger seat. Just the sight of the black bag with the blue folder inside makes my breathing pick up.
“Hey, Mom!” my son, Theo, yells exuberantly. He waves until my car pulls to the front of the parent pick-up line. As soon as I slow to a complete stop, his smiling freckled face peers over my passenger-side window. My eyes widen; he’s sporting a huge gap in his smile where there was a tooth just this morning. My heart sinks a little at missing the milestone.
“Did you lose your tooth at school today, Buddy? Was it the super wiggler or only the semi-wiggler?” I twist in my seat, trying to see him better while he tosses his bag inside and clamors into the car.
“Make sure you click the buckle,” I remind him, checking my rearview mirror to make sure he finishes latching his seatbelt before pulling out of the carpool lane to merge with the traffic.
“All ready. It was the super wiggler that came out, and it bled all over! It was crazy, and I got sent to the nurse and everything. The whole class was totally freaking out,” Theo shares waving his arms exuberantly around the small space. His toothy grin lights up my life.
Driving down the tree-lined streets, I keep a close eye on all the kids walking home and rushing about as they exit cars. Their big, beautiful homes and lush manicured lawns look like quintessential suburbia. Dogs running, kids laughing, everyone happy that school is out for the weekend.
“So, what happened next?” I ask, eager to hear about his day, his tooth, and anything else he wants to tell me about. I never really thought about being a mom until I ended up pregnant with him. But he’s the best thing that has ever happened to me.
“Well, I went to the nurse, and she cleaned my tooth and put it in this cool blue tooth necklace,” he exclaims, yanking on a little plastic necklace that was hidden under his shirt. “Then I went back to class, and Mrs. Wendt let me show it to everyone and it was so fun.”
Theo continues to chatter in the backseat, and I keep my ears open, letting all the details of his day wash over me. He tells me about the kids he played with, the cookies he traded at lunch, and getting to play noodle tag in PE as we wind down the streets getting closer to our house.
“Since Daddy’s gone this weekend, do you think we could go to the playground and get some ice cream tomorrow? Oh, can Brayden and his mom come too? Like a playdate?” He asks, not stopping to breathe.
The hope shining in his voice pierces my heart like a dagger. Life was never supposed to be this way. I’ve failed my precious boy—allowing us to live like prisoners. But no more. My eyes flick down to the divorce papers peeking out of my bag. The blue folder stands proudly, promising a future filled with play dates and all the ice cream Theo could ever want.
Tears form in the corner of my eyes, and I quickly blink them back, swallowing against the lump in my throat caused by the sudden tide of emotions.
“Yeah, Buddy, that sounds super fun. I’ll text her,” I agree cheerfully. The papers can wait a few days–first, the perfect weekend. My husband, Frank, is a police officer working a double shift. Giving Theo and me two blissful days to do whatever we want—and when he gets back, I’m finally going to free us from this hell.
Our beautiful white home comes into view with our freshly manicured lawn, stunning flowers, and bright red front door. It’s picture perfect, not a blade of grass out of place, no shrubs left untrimmed—and I hate it. Gripping the steering wheel, I put my blinker on and began turning into our long, clean driveway, reaching up to push the button on the garage remote. The large white door lifts slowly…
“Mommy, why is Daddy’s patrol car here? I thought it was a ‘just us’ weekend?” Theo exclaims in dismay as my heart thunders in my ears and my stomach dips.
My shaking hand brushes against the door as we slowly creep into the house, but the frame creaks anyway, causing us to pause at the threshold. A gasp escapes my lips and we wait for a moment with bated breath. Looking down at my beautiful boy, I give Theo a bright smile. His expressive blue eyes stare at me, completely unblinking until my fingers ruffle his sandy blond locks.
“Mommmmm,” he groans, finally relaxing a little bit.
“It’s all going to be just fine, Bud. Why don’t you head up to your room and turn on some music? I’ll come get you once I find out why Dad is home. If his shift got canceled, we may need to change our plans a bit,” I say, trying to inject a calm I don’t feel into my voice.
Theo nods his head, but his nose wrinkles as he stares me down. He’s old enough now to feel the tension between his father and me. Old enough to no longer be able to just listen to music as Frank and I fight. The weight of his stare keeps me there a moment longer before I softly stroke his hair and bend down, pressing my lips to his forehead.
“It’s okay,” I whisper, giving his hand a little squeeze. He reluctantly nods his head, heading up the stairs and stopping at the top to look down at me one last time before disappearing around the corner.
“Arden,” Franks’ voice thunders. “Get your ass in here.”
Biting my lip, I take just a second to hide behind my ‘loving wife’ mask. Plastering a happy smile on my face and widening my eyes the way he likes, I hurry toward the sound of his angry voice. Cold sweat pops up along my body, readying my fight-or-flight instincts. Everything will be okay. You haven’t done anything wrong. The reminder does nothing to ease the tension in my chest, and I fist my hands, ready for battle.
Frank didn’t start out as an abuser. Quite the contrary, when I met him in college, he was funny and charming. He swept me right off my feet until I couldn’t imagine life without him. His temperament change was gradual and until a few months ago, he had never hit me. But the toxic atmosphere has been years in the making, and when I started looking into divorce, that was all I was worried about. The screaming, the fighting, the cruel words, and the gaslighting.
Rounding the corner to the kitchen, my eyes immediately fall on my husband standing at the kitchen table, still in his police uniform—complete with the gun at his hip. His light brown hair, shaved close to his head, makes his ears stick out. Objectively, he’s a handsome man. And a lot of fun when he wants to be; but these last few years have been less and less about fun and more about avoiding his wrath.
“Hi, Frank,” I chirp, trying to sound happy to see him as I place my bag carefully on the counter. My stomach clenches hard in warning. “How was your day? Do you want something to eat?”
The top I’m wearing suddenly feels too hot, too small, as the sweat makes it stick to my skin. He just stares at me silently with angry eyes, and his brow quirks in my direction. My pulse races faster, and my heart skips a beat.
“Is that all you have to say to me, dear wife?” He snarls, and my mind begins to whirl. Does he know about the divorce papers? How did he find out so soon?
“Is something wrong?” I answer, widening my eyes innocently, trying to figure out what my transgression is without giving anything away. Early on, I learned not to guess what I’d done wrong. It just adds fuel to the fire.
“How about you tell me about these?” he shouts, hurling a batch of photos onto the table. My arms band around me, scared to even look at them. Even the simplest thing, like talking to a male barista, can set him off and there’s no reasoning with him. Whatever is in those photos, I’m going to be punished for it—regardless of the reality.
