“It is not necessary. I handle everything.”
The strange calls he answered locked in the office. The increasingly frequent trips. And that conversation I heard by accident two weeks ago. When I thought he was asleep, he was murmuring on the phone:
“Yes, I know the risk, but there is no other way. It has to look accidental.”
At that moment, I convinced myself it was about work, about some risky business deal. But what if it was not?
I looked at Leo, at that terrified face, at the tears rolling down, at the trembling hands, and I made the most important decision of my life.
“Okay, son. I believe you.”
The relief that passed through his face was instant, but it lasted little.
“So… what are we going to do?”
Good question. My brain was racing. If Leo was right—and every cell in my body was starting to scream that he was—going home was a death sentence. But where to go? To whose house? All our friends were James’s friends too. My family lived in another state. And what if I was wrong? What if it was all a terrible misunderstanding?
But what if it was not?
“Let’s go to the car,” I decided. “But we are not going home. We are going to… we are going to keep watch from afar, just to be sure. Okay?”
Leo nodded. I took his hand again and we walked toward the parking garage. My heart was beating so hard I could hear the blood pulsing in my ears. Every step seemed to weigh a ton. The cold night air hit me as we left the terminal. The parking garage was dimly lit, with only a few scattered cars. Ours was in a corner, a silver sedan that James had insisted on buying last year.
“A safe car for my family,” he said.
Safe. What a bitter joke.
We opened the car and got in. I buckled Leo in, then myself. My hands were shaking so much it took me three tries to start the engine.
“Mom,” Leo’s voice was small in the back seat.
“Yes, my love?”
“Thank you for believing me.”
I looked in the rearview mirror. He was shrunk in the seat, hugging the dinosaur backpack he took everywhere.
“I am always going to believe you, son. Always.”
And in that moment, I realized I should have said that before. I should have listened to him from the beginning.
I drove in silence. I did not go straight home. I took an alternate route, a parallel street that overlooked our street without us being easily seen. I found a dark spot between two large trees and parked. From there, we could see our house in the suburbs. Everything seemed normal. The streetlights illuminated the sidewalk, our well-kept lawn, the porch where James and I drank coffee on Sundays, the window of Leo’s room with the Batman curtains he had chosen.
Home. Our home. Or at least that was what I thought.
I turned off the engine and the car lights. Total darkness. Total silence except for our breathing.
“And now we wait,” I whispered.
Leo said nothing. He just kept looking out the window, eyes fixed on the house. And so we stayed waiting, not knowing that in less than an hour, everything I thought I knew about my life was going to crumble.
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