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Connor’s phone rings in my hand and I answer it.
“She’s not here,” Lori says.
My stomach drops. “You checked the whole apartment?”
“Yeah.”
No, she was supposed to be there. She should be sleeping in my bed right now.
Thoughts compete for space in my head, but the biggest thing isn’t that my dad’s involved. It’s that I was the one who ruined things. I should have explained to her the idea of love is hard for me. That I haven’t told anyone I loved them since Mom died. That we could go to that therapy she suggested together. That I could work through this.
It’s six-twenty in the morning there. Too early for her to have gone somewhere, especially if she normally sleeps in. “Does it look like she left? Packed a bag?”
“No. All her stuff is here. Her clothes, toothbrush, phone charger. You’d pack those things if you left.”
If she didn’t pack a bag and leave, then where the hell is she?
“Go downstairs. Ask the lobby attendant when was the last time he saw her. Have him call the night attendant if they’ve already switched shifts. Look at the camera footage. Something. I want to know where she is.”
“Archer, what’s going on? Why don’t you call her or something?”
“I can’t. Her phone’s off.”
“Listen, I’m not getting in the middle of some lover’s quarrel if that’s what’s happening here.”
I harden my tone. “Lori, as your employer, I’m asking you to go downstairs and do this, regardless of your personal thoughts on the matter.”
“Yes, sir.”
She hangs up, and while I hate to boss her around, even though I’m literally her boss, this is too important. Where is Serena?
Connor places a comforting hand on my shoulder. “Why don’t you try contacting her another way. Email her or something.”
I wince. “I… don’t know her email.”
He gives me a look which clearly conveys what an idiot I am. “You don’t know your wife’s email?”
The tips of my ears burn hot. “I’ve never had to email her, okay? It’s only been a couple of weeks. I usually see her every day.”
“Social media then. She has a ThousandWords profile, right?”
“I don’t think she uses it. She gave over control of the account to Dad’s PR team a while ago.”
She wouldn’t have gone into work at the shelter this early, would she? I pull up Connor’s browser and google it, but it lists the operating hours as opening at ten a.m. I call, but it only gives me a recorded message saying the same thing. That’s three and a half hours from now. I can’t wait that long.
I get up and pace the room, across the length of the bed to the bathroom, then return the other way. Blowing out a breath, I cup the back of my neck, a sick sensation in my stomach rising. What’s taking Lori so long?
Connor calmly hands me the phone as it rings again, my palms sweaty as I take it from him.
“I have bad news,” she says, the most serious I’ve ever heard her.
I brace a hand on the bedside table, my knees faltering. “What is it?”
“The guy that’s on duty now wasn’t there when it happened, but he was told that two police officers escorted Serena out of the building last night. And the attendant received a call from the manager to collect her key on her way out.”
What the actual fuck? Both our phones aren’t working and she was removed from the premises? By the police? This has gone too far.
She’s not absent because she chose to leave. Someone made her. And the only person who has the legal right to evict someone is the owner.