Chapter 3
I checked my phone after I sat down.
No new messages from Clara.
That irritated me at first.
I remember that too.
Not frightened me.
Irritated me.
I told myself she was punishing me.
I imagined the argument waiting at home.
Where were you?
Why didn’t you answer?
Do you have any idea how scared I was?
I had already begun preparing my defense.
The meeting ran late.
My phone was on silent.
You panic every time he gets warm.
You know how much pressure I’m under.
I had used versions of those sentences so many times that they came naturally.
The penthouse was silent when I arrived.
Not quiet.
Silent.
There is a difference.
Quiet can be peaceful.
Silence can be waiting for you.
The elevator doors opened directly into the living room.
“Clara?”
Nothing.
I loosened my tie.
The apartment usually changed after Noah arrived.
Even when he slept, evidence of him was everywhere.
Burp cloths.
Blankets.
Bottles.
Tiny socks that seemed too small to belong to a human being.
A breast pump charger Clara was always forgetting in the wrong room.
The faint static from the nursery monitor.
That morning there was no monitor sound.
No kettle boiling.
No Clara humming badly in the kitchen.
No baby crying.
“Clara?”
My voice traveled through the apartment and came back weaker.
I crossed the living room.
The kitchen light was still on.
A bottle sat near the sink.
Half full.
Cold.
Beside it was a digital thermometer and a damp cloth.
I stared at them.
Something moved through my chest.
Not panic yet.
The beginning of it.
On the counter lay the blue blanket with white stars Clara used when Noah refused to settle.
I picked it up.
It smelled faintly of baby lotion.
And him.
My son.
My mouth went dry.
I walked faster.
“Clara?”
The bedroom was empty.
The wardrobe door stood open.
Several of her clothes were gone.
Not everything.
Just what she had needed.
Her overnight bag was missing.
So was Noah’s carrier.
My feet carried me toward the nursery before my brain agreed to understand.
The door was open.
The crib was empty.
I stopped.
There are things the mind refuses because accepting them would require a person to become someone different.
I looked at the crib.
Then the chair.
Then the crib again.
The mobile above it turned slowly in the air from the vent.