I watched that dot for the entire agonizingly slow ride up town through the traffic clogged streets. It never moved.
He was there sipping expensive wine, laughing with his parents while I sat in a dirty cab, clutching our son.
Each block taking me further away from the life I thought I had. When the cab finally stopped in front of our building, our doorman, Carlos, rushed out, his face a mask of confusion and concern.
“Mrs. Blackwood, I we weren’t expecting you. Let me help you.”
He took Liam’s carrier and offered me an arm. I walked into the marble lobby.
The silence of the penthouse apartment looming above me like a judgment. It was supposed to be a homecoming.
It felt like a sentence. Carlos brought us upstairs.
The apartment was spotless, dark, and utterly empty. I took Liam out of his carrier, sank onto the huge, cold leather sofa in the living room, and finally let the tears fall.
They were silent tears, not of sadness, but of a fury so pure and cold it felt like ice in my veins. I looked at my phone.
The dot was still at the restaurant. I thought of Tristan’s words. “After everything I’ve given up.”
I scrolled through my contacts, my thumb hovering over one name. Dad.
I took a deep shaky breath and pressed call. It rang twice.
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