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CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

CELINE

Two days go by as I sit in radio silence, not totally sure the entire phone call wasn’t a dream. If it wasn’t for the call in my call log, I could easily be convinced I imagined the whole thing. I spend the next two miserable days filled with stress and sweating and random crying fits. Two days where I plaster on a smile in front of the boys and a stoic face in front of my parents and pretend I’m still just holding on.

I haven’t gotten any new updates from the police, and I’m afraid to reach out to them because I’m terrified I’ll slip up and somehow let them know I spoke with him. Maybe I should. Some part of me worries that he only called because he found out I’d closed our bank accounts. Maybe he never thought I’d actually go through with it. Maybe he expected me to be the trusting, doting wife, sitting around waiting for him to return like he was coming home from war, rather than abandoning us.

Maybe he wouldn’t actually be wrong to think that because here I sit. In bed at the end of a long day, staring at the phone until my eyes are so dry I have to blink. Maybe he knows me all too well.

Every time my phone goes off, I jump up like it’s him. I want to hear from him like I want to live. No matter what he’s done, I can’t make myself be mad at him. I want to trust him, want to believe there could be some sort of explanation.

So when the phone finally goes off after two long days of waiting in silence, and those two words appear on my screen— Unknown Caller —my heart leaps into my throat as if I’m a teenager waiting for my crush to call.

I swipe my finger across the screen before the first ring has ended. “Tate?”’

“I have a plan.”

“A plan.” I repeat the words. “What do you mean?”

“I’m going to come home.”

“Okay.” It’s a kick to the chest I don’t understand. He’s coming home just like that? Like he just woke up and decided? Has he been able to come home all this time? “When? Now?”

“No. Tomorrow. I’ll come home tomorrow night.”

I sink. “Tomorrow night? Okay. Why…night? And why not tonight? Why do you have to wait?” I’m mumbling, processing. He sounds so calm, so sure of himself. I hate it, especially when I sound like a bumbling mess.

“I’ll explain it all when I get there.”

“But why can’t you explain it now?”

He doesn’t answer, allowing the silence to worry me again.

“Okay, fine, tomorrow. Are you…are you safe? Will you at least tell me that?”

“I’m safe. I’m okay,” he says. “I’ll be better when I’m home.”

“We miss you so much.”

He clears his throat. “I need you to do me a favor, though.”

“Okay. Anything.” I’m pathetic.

“Have you told anyone that we’ve spoken?”

“No, of course not. You asked me not to.”

“Good. Okay. Keep the secret for another day for me, okay? And do you think you could get your mom to watch the boys tomorrow night?”

“Here? Where are we going?”

“No. Have her take them to their house. When I come home, we need to be alone.”

Chills line my skin. “Alone. But why? They miss you. They’ll be so excited you’re home. I want to tell them.”

“I know. I know. We just need one night together, just us, so I can explain everything.”

“But I don’t understand. Explain it now and then come home.”

“I can’t. You’ll understand soon, I promise.” His voice is cold and empty. I’ve never been afraid of my husband, but suddenly I am.

“Can you just tell me something now? Anything? You’re scaring me.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Tate, please?—”

He ends the call, and I’m alone again, left to ponder what exactly just happened. Tate is coming home, so why don’t I feel relieved about it?