Chương 6
Michael wanted to say something meaningful.
He wanted to repair one small piece before the night carried them farther apart.
Nothing he could say would survive contact with what had already happened.
So he went inside.
The house felt different without Vanessa in it.
Not safer.
Emptier.
More honest, maybe.
He hated himself for that thought too.
His keys sat beside the fruit bowl.
He picked them up, then noticed the casserole dish.
The oven was still on.
Michael switched it off.
He stood there looking at the glowing digital numbers fade from 375 to the clock.
10:43.
The children should have been asleep.
He should have been complaining about unfinished homework or stepping on one of Noah’s sneakers in the hallway.
Instead, police tape was being stretched across his cellar door.
The younger officer came into the kitchen.
“Mr. Carter?”
Michael turned.
“We need to ask you not to go downstairs.”
“I won’t.”
“We’ll likely apply for a warrant to collect the equipment and other items.”
“Take whatever you need.”
The officer gave him a cautious look.
“It’s better if you don’t touch anything.”
“I said I won’t.”
His voice came out sharper than intended.
The officer did not react.
Michael rubbed his face.
“Sorry.”
“You’ve had a rough night.”
Michael almost corrected him.
Ella had had a rough night.
Noah had.
Claire had.
Calling Michael’s night rough felt obscene.
Instead he said, “There’s another camera.”
The officer paused.
Michael stared at the ceiling.
He had not consciously remembered it until that moment.
“Where?”
“Front hallway.”
“Security camera?”
“Yes.”
“Does it record locally?”
“I think so.”
“You think?”
“Vanessa set it up.”
The answer embarrassed him.
He lived in the house.
He paid half the mortgage.
He did not know where the recordings went.
The officer wrote something down.
“Any others?”
“Back patio.”
“Bedrooms?”
“No.”
He hesitated.
“At least, not that I know of.”
The officer’s eyes lifted.
Michael felt cold.
“What?”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“No, but you looked at me.”
“Mr. Carter, I’m asking because we need to understand the system.”
Michael swallowed.
“Check everything.”
“We will.”
His phone vibrated.
A text from Claire.
They’re taking Ella in now.
Michael typed, On my way.
Then erased it.
He typed, I’m leaving the house now.
That felt more accurate.
He sent it.
At the hospital, Noah sat alone in a molded plastic chair outside the pediatric treatment area.
Ramirez had already left after transferring him into Claire’s care.
A paper cup of water sat untouched beside his shoe.
Michael approached slowly.
“Where’s Mom?”
“With Ella.”
Noah’s voice was flat.
“Can I sit here?”
A small shrug.
Michael sat two chairs away.
The waiting room television showed a muted cooking competition.
Someone on-screen was crying over a cake.
Michael stared at it for several seconds before looking at his son.
“How’s your cheek?”
“Fine.”
“Does it hurt?”
“A little.”
“Do you want ice?”
“They gave me some.”
“Where is it?”
“I threw it away.”
Michael nodded.
Silence settled between them.
A vending machine hummed.
A toddler across the room was asleep across two chairs while his father scrolled through his phone.
Noah rubbed the toe of one sneaker against the floor.
“Are they going to put Vanessa in jail?”
“I don’t know.”
“She deserves it.”
Michael looked at him.
Noah stared straight ahead.
“Maybe.”
“That means you don’t think so.”
“It means I don’t know what the police or a judge will decide.”
“She chained Ella.”
“I know.”
“She hit me.”
“I know.”
“She lied.”
“I know.”
Noah’s head snapped toward him.
“Stop saying that.”
Michael went still.
His son’s eyes filled again.
“You always say you know after.”
There was no defense.
Michael looked down at his hands.
A thin cut crossed one knuckle from some forgettable office accident earlier that week.
“I didn’t listen to you.”
Noah said nothing.
“I thought I understood what was happening.”
Still nothing.
“I didn’t.”
Noah’s jaw worked.
Michael continued because stopping would have been another kind of hiding.
“You tried to tell me something was wrong, and I decided what you meant instead of asking.”
Noah blinked hard.
“I thought you liked her more.”
Michael’s chest tightened.
“I didn’t.”
“You always believed her.”
“That’s not the same thing.”
“It felt the same.”
Michael looked at him.
Noah finally looked back.
There were moments when children resembled both parents at once.
Right then Noah had Claire’s eyes and Michael’s stubborn mouth.
“What did she say to you?” Michael asked.
Noah shrugged.
“Stuff.”
“What stuff?”
“That we were spoiled.”
Michael waited.
“That Mom made us hate her.”
Another pause.
“That you’d get tired of dealing with us if we kept causing problems.”
Michael felt the words physically.
His hands went cold.
“Did she say that to Ella too?”
“Sometimes.”
“How long?”
“I don’t know.”
“Noah.”
“I said I don’t know.”
His voice rose.
Several people glanced over.
Michael lowered his own voice.
“Okay.”
Noah pressed both palms against his eyes.
“She’d be nice when you were home.”
Michael stared at the television again because looking at his son had become difficult.
On-screen, someone held up a tray while judges clapped silently.
“When did she hit you?”
“Tonight.”
“Only tonight?”
Noah’s hands dropped.
He hesitated.
Michael’s stomach tightened.
“Noah.”
“She grabbed me before.”
“Where?”
“My arm.”
“When?”
“I don’t remember.”
“Did she leave marks?”
“Once.”
“Did you tell anyone?”
Noah looked toward the treatment doors.
“Mom.”
Michael turned.
“You told Mom?”
“She saw it.”
The doors opened.
Claire came out.
Her eyes found Michael immediately.
He stood.
“How is she?”
“Her temperature is coming up.”
Claire’s voice was tired.
“They’re checking the wrist and watching her for a while.”
Michael nodded.
Then he looked at Noah.
“You told your mom about the bruises?”
Claire stopped.
“What bruises?”
Noah’s face changed.
Michael understood instantly.
He had misunderstood.
Noah looked trapped.
Claire crossed the space between them.
“What bruises?”
“It was nothing.”
“Noah.”
“Mom.”
“Show me.”
“They’re gone.”
May you like
Claire looked at Michael.
“What is he talking about?”
