Page 118 of Thin Lives

No.

He wouldn’t take her baby, surely.

Affonso wasn’t equipped to handle Cross, and all the things the two and a half month old needed on a daily basis. He couldn’t even stand to listen to the child cry for longer than a minute.

Maybe he was just—

Emma couldn’t even finish that thought. There was nothing she could tell herself that would make sense for why Affonso’s and baby Cross’s belongings were gone in the middle of the fucking night. Nothing.

She damn near tripped over her own two feet as she scrambled back down the hallway, her tears starting to fall as she realized what Affonso had done to her. He’d threatened it more than once—promised to take Cross from her if he deemed it necessary, or should he think that she wasn’t worthy of the child.

Yet, somewhere deep inside, Emma had never really taken those threats all too seriously. It frightened her, sure, but she didn’t believe that Affonso had the balls to take her baby while he was still as young as he was.

Her heart shattered over the staircase as she took the steps two at a time, not even trying to hide her noise. It wasn’t like there was anyone in the house to wake up.

She flew around the banister, heading for the front door of the home, and finally froze in her steps. Resting against the wall of the entryway was a familiar piece of black leather luggage, and a baby’s diaper bag right beside it.

He was still there.

He hadn’t left yet.

Emma took her first real breath in minutes. The fear that had previously taken over her was gone in a blink. A deep, burning anger took its place.

There was only one place left in the house that Affonso would bother with before he left, she knew. One place where he might keep things that he would want to take with him.

His office.

Uncaring about what might be waiting for her in Affonso’s office, she went in that direction, determined to get her son away from her bastard husband. Affonso could leave if he wanted to—the asshole was a coward, anyway. But he was not taking her baby with him when he went.

No way.

Emma slid her hand into the pocket of her robe, and pulled out the phone. Knowing the night could end badly, or she just might need someone else’s help, she sent off one single text to the number Calisto always texted her from.

It only read, Help.

That was it. Nothing else.

She didn’t have time for more, and quickly hid the phone back into the pocket of her robe. From just down the hallway, Emma could already hear the mutterings of Affonso. That wasn’t unusual for the man when he was drinking, and she noticed that he had been drunk a lot more often since the dinner.

Almost every night, actually.

She mostly tried to stay out of his way. It was easier.

And safer.

Affonso tended to get louder and more menacing when he was drunk. He had no issue with waving his arms and tossing around his weight to frighten someone else. His cold smiles turned into ice.

The man was evil all over.

If he was drunk, or drinking at all, Emma knew she would have to tread extra carefully. Sure, her husband hadn’t put his hands on her since the night in her walk-in closet when he found out she was pregnant with Calisto’s child—other than the moment in the hospital—but it had been enough for her.

Enough to know the man was capable of it.

That he could—and would—hurt her.

Or kill her, even.

Emma’s heart started beating again when she stood in the doorway of Affonso’s office. There, in his car seat all buckled up and dressed in his winter bunting suit, was a wide-eyed baby Cross. His gaze found his mother the moment she was in his line of sights. She went straight to him, ignoring the mumbling Affonso across the room who was bent down searching for something in his desk.