Madison’s parents had stocked the refrigerator.
There was soup, milk, cut fruit, coffee, and a lasagna covered in foil with her mother’s handwriting on the top.
Madison stood in the living room holding Noah and felt quiet for the first time in months.
Eight hundred miles away, Ethan’s vacation was already falling apart.
Lorraine kept posting photographs with forced smiles.
Ethan kept checking his phone.
No one in Madison’s family answered him.
The hospital would not confirm anything.
His mother said Madison was being dramatic.
His father said pregnant women got emotional.
Ethan said less and less.
His flight home landed just after four.
By early evening, he pulled into the driveway and found the house exactly where he had left it.
For one second, that comforted him.
Then he opened the door.
The nursery still had the crib.
The couch still had the folded blanket.
His clothes were still in the closet.
Nothing had been destroyed.
Nothing had been thrown.
That made the emptiness worse.
Madison’s dresser drawers were empty.
Her toothbrush was gone.
Half the bathroom counter had disappeared.
The framed wedding picture near the stairs had been turned face down.
In the kitchen, Rebecca Lawson’s business card sat on the island.
Beneath it was one sealed envelope with Ethan’s name written in Madison’s hand.
He opened it standing up.
Then he sat down.
Legal-separation petition.
Temporary financial preservation.
Medical privacy authorization.
Contact through counsel for legal matters.
