Page 42 of The Liar's Wife

Tag removed,it said, highlighting a box where his name had probably once been.

I closed out of Facebook and opened my browser, typing in her name.Katherine Thompson Red River, NC 618

I pressed enter, and this time, it was the top search result, though the name on the listing made my throat go dry. A chill ran over my spine as I clicked on the link.

No.

Please God, no.

The page loaded, and I felt my pulse growing erratic as sheer black fright swept over me.

618 Melbourne Lane

Red River, NC

Property Owners: Benjamin and Katherine Lewis

Ben.

Chapter Twenty-Six

An hour later, I was pulling into Red River. I’d had the Uber driver drop me off at home just long enough to switch vehicles. I didn’t have much time. I couldn’t wait any longer.

I knew where my child was and, come hell or high water, I was going to get him back. I drove through the quiet streets of the tiny town, so peaceful and serene, yet holding so much evil. I still couldn’t get it through my head that Ben knew—was related to, wasmarriedto, maybe—Kat. I didn’t know how they knew each other, but I didn’t care. He’d lied to me. He’d let this woman into our lives, chosen her over me, and let her take my child. If I ever saw him again, I was sure I’d kill him.

I arrived on Melbourne Lane, driving slowly. The street lights flickered above me, giving the quiet street an ominous glow, and I looked for the home that would hold my child.Please let him be here.

Six eighteen was the third house from the end of thedead-end street. Inside, there were lights on downstairs, but the lights upstairs were all off. I stopped the car, climbing from it and walking across the yard.

I took cautious steps, looking over my shoulder to be sure no one would see me. What if they’d sold the house? What if they were no longer the owners? What would I do then? I pushed the thoughts from my head, forcing myself to keep going.

I approached the side of the house, pressing myself against the white, metal siding and listening carefully. I could hear the low, steady drone of a television running from somewhere inside the house.

Then, a baby began to fuss, his cries carrying through the house.

I slapped a hand over my mouth, quieting the sobs that came out with no warning and no regard for my safety.He was there.I’d found him. I needed to get into the house.

Quick footsteps hurried across the house, and I tried to follow them, walking around the side and toward the back. I reached over the gate to unlatch it, letting myself into the back yard. From there, I lost the sound of the footsteps and fought furiously to find them. Instead, a light flicked on on the second floor, and I could see a shadow moving around. Gray’s cries stopped, making me cry harder. Already, she was able to soothe him.

Or was it Ben? Ben could’ve been the one comforting him. How could he live with himself knowing I wasn’t there? Knowing if he had his way, Gray would never know his mother. What would he tell him about me? Would he tell him anything at all? I stepped behind a bush, keeping my body close to the house as I watched the shadows cast through the yellow glow of the light upstairs.

I sank down onto the mulch of the flower bed, watching the light and feeling helpless. My child was just feet from me, and I had no way to get to him. He was crying for me, for the nourishment only I could give him, and I couldn’t get there.

I should call the police. I knew it, but I couldn’t. I had no proof that it was Gray inside, no proof that Kat or Ben—either one—were inside. I had to get proof. I had to know for sure.

Once the cries had gone quiet for a while, the light upstairs flipped off, and I heard the footsteps descending the stairs.

I walked through the fenced-in back yard cautiously, looking for something to spark an idea. There was an awning above the back porch that would allow me to walk straight up to the window, but I wasn’t nearly tall enough to get to it. I walked up to the rusted patio set and grabbed one of the chairs. I still wasn’t sure whether it would get me up there, but I had to try.

I turned the chair backward against the support beam for the awning. It groaned under my weight, and I froze, waiting, my heart pounding so loudly in my chest I thought I was going to pass out.

After a few silent moments had passed, I leaned the rest of the way up, resting my forearms against the roof. I’d need to use all of my strength, including my core, which had no strength left to give since my cesarean.

I braced myself, letting out a steady breath with my lips in the shape of an ‘O,’ then heaved, pulling myself up. I cried out, unable to hold the noise in, pain ripping through my body like bolts of lightning. I was worried I’d torn open my still-healing scar, that my guts would be falling out by the time I made it to the roof, but I couldn’t stop. This was mymetaphorical car, and I was lifting it off of my child with every ounce of adrenaline I could muster.

I pulled, shimmying one leg up and onto the roof, then the other. When I was up, I collapsed, breathing heavily and blinking back tears. I moved a hand to my lower belly, checking to make sure my surgical scar was still closed. To my great relief, though it felt like one place may have opened up, the wound was still mostly closed and I felt no blood. I lay still for a moment, catching my breath and recovering from the intense pain before rolling over and pushing myself up. I took careful steps across the roof, hurrying to balance myself against the edge of the house and toward the window. When I got there, I lifted at the screen, removing it relatively easily. I tried to push up on the glass of the window, but it wouldn’t budge.

I pushed in, then up, fighting with it. It had to open. I was so close. Just a glass-length away from him. I shoved once more and the window shook, but it wouldn’t unlock.