Page 43 of The Liar's Wife

From inside, I heard his cries again. I’m not sure if all babies’ cries sound alike, but somehow, somewhere deep in my bones, I knew that was my son. I knew it had to be him, and I knew he could tell I was close. He needed me.

His cries grew louder, and I shoved away from the window, lowering myself to the roof when the light flicked on again. I heard her footsteps growing nearer, and then I heard her voice.

“What’s the matter, baby? Why can’t you sleep?” she cooed. Her voice was exactly how I remembered. Eerily sweet and smooth, slightly childish. It made me sick to my stomach.

Suddenly, I had an idea. I scooted toward the edge onceagain and stared down at the grass below. I was six feet up, and already hurt and sore, but I saw my window of opportunity. Without a second thought, I pushed off, shoving myself to the ground. I landed with a thud, tumbling onto the wet grass. I rolled over and pushed up without a moment to breathe. I moved quickly across the concrete back patio and up to the door. I had one chance to make it work, and I had to pray the door was unlocked and that no one was downstairs. If Ben was there, I’d confront him. I wasn’t afraid for myself, only for Gray.

I twisted the knob and shoved, and the door sprung open at once. It took a minute for me to realize I was even inside, pure shock sitting heavily on my chest. How had I managed this? I didn’t have time to question it. Instead, I shut the door behind me. I was in a small, dark, and quiet kitchen, and the light from the living room was coming from straight ahead. I moved to the left, into a laundry room, and looked around. The house smelled musty and closed up, I guessed from being empty for so long. There were piles of clothes on the floor in front of the washer and an overflowing hamper in the far corner. The oversized sink smelled of mildew and had what looked like wet cigarette butts in its drain.

I moved along the wall, following the shadows, and came to a hallway. To my right was the staircase that led upstairs—led to Gray. To my left was a door. I hurried up the stairs, taking quiet but quick steps on my way to the second floor. As soon as I took the last step, a door opened, and I saw her emerge. She had her back to me, and I darted into the door to my right before she turned around. The room was pitch black, but I didn’t dare turn on any lights.

I stayed completely still, breathing heavily as I waited forher footsteps to carry on down the stairs. She was slow to go, and for a moment, I didn’t hear anything. But eventually, thankfully, I heard her traveling back downstairs.

I counted to thirty, giving her time to settle in once I imagined she’d had time to arrive in the living room, and then I opened the door.

When I did, I froze. The house was dark. The television and light from downstairs had been turned off.

Where was she?

I moved to shut the door back and heard footsteps coming, returning up the stairs, and my heart pounded harder. Who was it? Just her? Or someone else? Was it Ben? The man I’d met at the house who I didn’t have a name for? What if I was in her bedroom? I ran a hand along the wall, searching for a sign as to what room I was in. I connected with a light switch as I heard her growing closer but passed over it, searching for more. My hand connected with a piece of cool, flat metal. A mirror. I dropped my hands, feeling along the sticky, grimy counter. I was in a bathroom. I glided across the room as I heard someone moving at the top of the staircase and felt for a bathtub. I would hide behind the curtain if someone came in. As I made contact with the glass panes of a walk-in shower, my heart sank. There was no way I could hide there.

I panted in terror as I listened for them to open the door. To my great relief, the footsteps continued past, and I heard them carry on down the hall, farther than Gray’s room. A door shut a few moments later, and I released a long, strained breath.

I sank down to the floor, waiting to give them a chance to fall asleep. If Gray were to start crying, she’d come for him. Ineeded to give myself the best chance possible, though my entire body tingled with excitement and anticipation. I was seconds away from holding him in my arms, and it was more exciting and terrifying than being wheeled down the long hall on my way to deliver him. This time, though, we were both in more danger.

I sank to the linoleum of the bathroom floor, smelling the ammonia of uncleaned urine on the floor, and curled my lips. My body hurt, and taking the moment to slow down was showing me just how much. My stomach wound felt like it had been torn open again, despite there being no blood, and my skin screamed in agony. My arms were so sore I was sure I’d scraped my elbow on the roof, my feet were throbbing from my fall, and I’d cut my back on the gutter on the way down. I was exhausted and terrified, but I couldn’t stop. I was this close. If I’d given up, I’d never have gotten this far.

Gray was depending on me. I was all he had. I had to find him. I had to get him out of here and away from this woman…away from the danger his father put him in.

We could move away, change our names, and disappear. No one would have to know who we were or where we came from. It wasn’t safe for us to stay. The thought of taking him away was bittersweet, mostly because of my career and Dannika. But I would give it all up, burn it all down for him.

When the house had been silent for a while, I pushed up from the floor and moved toward the door. I pulled it open a half inch per second, easing it until there was enough space for me to sneak out into the dark hallway. I could see moonlight seeping in under the doors as I moved stealthily down the hall. I stopped at the door that held my son, taking a half-breath to prepare myself.

This was it.

I placed one hand on the cool, metal knob, the other on the wood of the door, counted to three in my head, and pushed.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

The small room was painted with moonlight, giving me just enough to see what it contained. The crib was in the far corner of the mostly empty room. It was old and worn, with a few of the bars painted while others weren’t. There was a wicker rocking chair just beside it, piled high with a combination of wrinkled hand-me-downs and brand new baby clothes. A picture frame hung on the wall, though there was not yet a picture in it.

I moved across the room quickly, the rough carpet rubbing against my shoes on my way to him.

I took a deep breath, my vision clouding as tears quickly filled my eyes, then dropped down onto him before I could stop them. I reached into the crib and picked him up. He was dressed in only a diaper, his hair slick with sweat in the hot room. He’d grown so much in just a few days.

I lifted him to my chest, and he began to cry out, though he calmed at once against my skin.

He knew me.

He hadn’t forgotten.

I was still his mom.

“Shhh, Gray baby,” I whispered, inhaling his scent. I never wanted to lose that smell, never wanted to let him go. I was torn between standing there forever and savoring him, breaking down into sobs with gratitude at finally having him back, and running for our lives. I squeezed him tightly, kissing his head and wiping down his cheeks. “It’s okay, baby. Mommy’s here.”

I sucked in a breath as he let out another cry, and I bounced him feverishly. My breasts filled with milk, painful and swollen at once, which only seemed to make his crying worse. Panic swept through me, my body turning to ice as I tried and failed to calm him. His body writhed in my arms, and I moved to the window, unlocking it with my free hand and attempting to lift it up.

I struggled against the heavy, painted-shut window.Come on, come on, come on.Gray’s cries grew louder, more fury-filled, in my ear. He was hungry. He was angry. He was afraid.