He did not answer immediately. We kept walking, passing by the closed shops, the flight schedule boards, the rushed people pulling suitcases. It was only when we got near the exit, when the automatic glass doors were already in sight, that he stopped. He stopped so abruptly that I almost tripped.
“Leo, what is wrong?”
It was then that he looked at me. And God, that look. I will never forget it. It was pure terror, that kind of fear that a six-year-old child should not even know.
“Mom,” he whispered, his voice trembling, “we cannot go back home.”
My heart did a strange jump in my chest. I crouched down in front of him, holding his two little arms.
“What do you mean no, honey? Of course we are going home. It is late. You need to sleep.”
“No.”
His voice came out louder, desperate. Some people turned their heads to look at us. He swallowed hard and continued, now in an urgent whisper.
“Mom, please. We cannot go back. Believe me this time. Please, this time.”
Those two words hurt me, because it was true. Weeks ago, Leo had told me he saw a strange car parked in front of our house, the same car, three nights in a row. I told him it was a coincidence. Days later, he swore he had heard Dad talking softly in the office about “solving the problem once and for all.” I told him it was business matters, that he should not listen to adult conversations. I did not believe him.
And now he was begging me, with tears starting to form in those little brown eyes.
“This time, believe me.”
“Leo, explain to me. What is happening?”
My voice came out firmer than I felt inside. He looked around as if he were afraid someone might hear him. Then he pulled my arm, making me lean even closer to him, and whispered in my ear:
“This morning, very early, I woke up before everyone else. I went for water and heard Dad in his office. He was on the phone. He said that tonight, when we were sleeping, something bad was going to happen. That he needed to be far away when it happened. That we… that we were not going to be in his way anymore.”
My blood froze.
“Leo, are you sure? Are you sure of what you heard?”
He nodded, desperate.
“He said there were people who were going to take care of it. He said he was finally going to be free. Mom, his voice… it was not Dad’s voice. It was different. Terrifying.”
My first instinct was to deny it. To say it was imagination, that he had misunderstood, that James would never— But then I remembered things. Little things I had ignored. James increasing the life insurance three months ago, saying it was just a precaution. James insisting that I put everything—the house in the suburbs, the car, even the joint account—only in his name.
“It helps with taxes, babe.”
James getting angry when I mentioned I wanted to go back to work.
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