Chapter 2

Toby walked ten paces ahead of me the entire way home. He treated me exactly like a stranger who just happened to be walking in the same direction.

We turned the corner onto our street. I couldn't hold it in anymore.

"Toby, stop."

He kept walking.

I jogged a few steps to catch up and grabbed the strap of his bag. "Why did you tell your teammates I was the housekeeper?"

He yanked the bag out of my grip and let out a loud, exaggerated sigh.

"Mom, can you just stop picking me up from school?" he snapped. "Look at you."

He pointed a finger at me.

"Your clothes are old and wrinkled. Your hair is a mess. You look crazy. Why can't you just be normal? Why can't you learn a little bit from Phoebe?"

The name hit me like a physical blow.

"Phoebe?" I whispered.

"Yeah, Phoebe," Toby rolled his eyes. "She always looks perfect. She wears nice skirts, she does her makeup, and she smells good. Not like... garlic and old clothes. Having you show up at the rink like that is embarrassing. My friends were laughing at me."

He didn't wait for my response. He turned and stomped up the front steps of our townhouse, punching in the door code.

I stood frozen on the sidewalk. The Boston winter wind cut through my thin, but I barely felt it. Every word he said sliced directly into my chest. Embarrassing. Look at you. Learn from Phoebe.

I swallowed hard, fighting back the tears that threatened to spill over. I walked inside and locked the door behind me. Toby had already disappeared upstairs. His bedroom door slammed shut.

I stood in the entryway and looked at the large mirror above the console table.

Toby was right. I looked terrible. My hair was pulled back into a messy, uneven bun. My face was pale and hollow from weeks of relentless morning sickness. I was wearing a sweater I hadn't washed in three days. I had given up my floral studio, my career, and my entire identity to keep this house running perfectly. To make sure Toby have a happy childhood. To make sure Steve could focus entirely on getting tenure at Harvard.

And my reward was my own flesh and blood being utterly ashamed of me.

The front door clicked open.

Steve walked in, shaking the snow off his wool coat.

"Good timing," Steve said smoothly, walking straight into the kitchen to pour himself a glass of water. "There’s something we need to talk about. Toby and I have been looking into summer programs."

I walked into the kitchen, crossing my arms over my chest. "Summer programs?"

"Yeah. Toby got a spot in the Canadian Outdoor Science Camp," Steve said. He leaned against the marble counter, his tone casual and perfectly rehearsed. "It’s a three-month immersive thing. Forest research, team building, survival skills. It’s exactly the kind of extracurricular that prep schools look for. It’s going to look amazing on his middle school applications."

My heart sank straight to the bottom of my stomach.

Three months.

I looked at my husband. He was lying to my face without batting an eye.

"Toby!" I yelled toward the stairs. "Come down here!"

"Rachel, keep your voice down, you're going to give me a headache," Steve muttered, rubbing his temples.

Toby walked into the kitchen, looking between me and his dad.

"Your dad says you're going to a science camp in Canada for three months," I said, my voice trembling slightly. "Is that true?"

Toby didn't even flinch. He looked me dead in the eye.

"Yeah, Mom. Obviously," Toby said, his voice dripping with attitude. "It's a joint program with MIT. The teachers said it's totally necessary for my applications. Dad and I have been planning it for weeks. But you're always so paranoid and weird about everything, we didn't want to tell you until it was a sure thing."

My mouth went dry.

He was ten. He was ten years old, and he was lying with the cold, calculated precision of a seasoned con artist.

"He's ten years old, Steve," I said, my voice dropping to a harsh whisper. "What middle school applications require a three-month Canadian survival camp?"

"The competitive ones, Rachel," Steve fired back immediately. "You've been out of the professional world for too long. You don't understand how cutthroat it is out there. We have to prepare him now."

The two men I loved most in the world were standing in my kitchen, teaming up to gaslight me.

I took a deep breath and let my hands drop to my sides.

"No," I said quietly.

Steve frowned. "Excuse me?"

"I said no. Toby isn't going anywhere."

Steve's posture stiffened. "Rachel, you cannot control everything. You are suffocating this child. This is important for his future."

"She always does this!" Toby yelled, his face turning red. "I can't go anywhere! I can't do anything! You have to check my food, you have to track my phone, you have to know everyone I talk to! You're ruining my life! You're suffocating me!"

"Suffocating you?" I countered, my voice finally rising. "I'm keeping you alive, Toby! I'm the one who makes sure you don't end up in the ER with an anaphylactic shock!"

I turned my glare to Steve.

"And you," I pointed at my husband. "You're not taking Toby to Canada. You're taking Phoebe to Vermont."

The kitchen went dead silent.

Steve's face lost all its color. His mouth opened slightly, but no words came out.

"I dropped your access card off at the lab today," I said, my voice shaking with pure rage. "I heard everything. The woodland rehab base. The three-month trauma healing study. Taking your mistress to Vermont and using our son as a human shield so you can play house with a twenty-nine-year-old."

"Rachel," Steve stammered, his eyes darting nervously. "Rachel, you're having another episode. You're being paranoid again. Phoebe is a patient—"

"Don't you dare call me paranoid!" I screamed. "Don't you dare use your psychiatric bullshit on me!"

"So what if he is?!"

Toby's voice cut through the kitchen like a knife.

I turned to look at my son. He was glaring at me, his fists clenched at his sides. There was no guilt in his eyes. Only absolute hatred.

"So what?" I whispered, horrified.

"So what if he goes with Phoebe?!" Toby screamed at the top of his lungs. "At least Dad doesn't treat me like a baby! At least Phoebe doesn't make me look like a loser in front of my friends! She's pretty! She's nice! She actually listens to me!"

"I hate you!" Toby shrieked. "I wish Phoebe was my mom! You ruin everything!"

He lunged forward to storm out. I instinctively reached out to stop him.

"Get away from me!"

In a blind fit of rage, Toby shoved me hard in the chest with both hands.

Off balance, I stumbled backward. My heel caught on the edge of the rug. I went down hard, my side slamming violently against the dining chair before I crashed onto the floor.

"Ah!"

A sharp, blinding pain exploded in my lower abdomen. It was instantaneous and agonizing, tearing through my insides like jagged glass. I curled into a ball, clutching my stomach.

A warm, wet sensation began to pool between my legs. My vision blur into a blinding white.

Toby was looking down at me. There was no panic in his face, only unadulterated disgust.

And Steve... Steve didn't move a muscle. He stood by the counter, staring down at me with chilling indifference.

Then, the darkness swallowed me whole.