Did she worry about that?
I had the feeling my wife never worried much at all.
But she should’ve.
At least, she should now.
After two days of watching, I sent the text to let her know I’d escaped. I wanted to see how she’d react. Wanted to see the fear in her eyes. Wanted to watch it settle into her bones. I wanted fear and terror and paranoia to permeate every inch of her body, every nerve, every muscle, every cell.
I wanted to be her walking, talking nightmare. To haunt her every waking thought.
And it had worked—possibly better than I’d anticipated.
Within minutes, she’d loaded the kids into the car, stopped at the hotel just long enough to pack their bags into the car, and they’d left. I could’ve stopped them then, I supposed. And I thought about it. I was hidden in plain sight—my rental car completely unnoticeable when she was watching for our SUV, but I was having entirely too much fun pacing myself.
As long as I knew where she was, there was no need to rush. I could have fun with this.
For once, I’d stay ahead of her.
For once, my wife would be my prey.
CHAPTER FIVE
AINSLEY
The kids knew something was wrong.
I was doing a terrible job fooling them, despite my best effort. When I’d finally made it back to Mom’s house, they were sitting together on the couch while Mom flitted about, dusting this and wiping that. Maisy had a book in her lap and Dylan was scrolling through his phone while Riley played a video game on his handheld system.
To someone who didn’t know them, they might look normal, but I knew better.
Maisy had been staring at the same page for far too long to actually be reading, Dylan was scrolling so aimlessly I knew he wasn’t paying attention, and Riley was losing repeatedly at a game I’d seen him beat a thousand times.
I was hurting them.
I went upstairs, changing into something more comfortable and splashing water over my face before returning to the living room. Practically at once, the kids looked up.
“Hey, Momma.” Maisy’s smile was soft and hopeful.
I sank down next to her, patting her leg.
“Did you take care of everything?” Dylan asked. “Can we go home now?”
I had no idea what I was going to say or how I was going to explain any of this to them. I only knew I couldn’t put this off any longer.
“I—”
“Kids, I think I have some ice cream in the refrigerator. Would you like some?” Mom asked, interrupting me.
“Nah.” Maisy moved closer to me.
“I’m okay,” Dylan told her.
Riley looked like he might’ve been prepared to take her up on the offer, but after his siblings’ dismissal, he said, “No thanks.”
She stared at them, her lips forming a thin line as she waved the white cloth in her hand to fan herself.
“It’s okay, Mom.” I nodded, understanding what she was doing, though I couldn’t quite understand why.
“Could I talk to you for a second, Ainsley?” Her eyes flicked toward the kitchen. “In there.”
For a moment, I was twelve years old again, being summoned to another room to be scolded out of earshot of our guests. I blinked back to reality. This wasn’t that. I wasn’t in trouble. I couldn’t be in trouble.
I stood from the couch, patting Maisy’s shoulder and offering a reassuring smile. “I’ll be right back.”
My mother led the way toward the kitchen, and I sat down across from her at the island.
“Ice cream?” I asked, trying to lighten the mood. “Since when do you keep ice cream in the house?”
“I don’t.” Her lips were stiff. “It was left here by a friend.” The way she said friend had my curiosity piqued, but I didn’t press the issue. Maybe my mother was dating someone new after all. “It’s one of those healthy ice creams—no carbs, no sugar, no dairy. I didn’t think it should be thrown out.” She folded her arms across her chest. “Besides, I was just trying to prevent you from making a terrible mistake.”
Cue the dramatics.
“A terrible mistake?”
“You were about to tell the children that Peter has left you, weren’t you?”
It was as if she’d spoken a foreign language. It took several seconds for me to comprehend what she’d said. “Um, what? Why would you assume he left me? Why would you assume anyone left anyone?”
“That’s what you told me, isn’t it?”
There was the mother I knew. Right on schedule. She only remembered what she chose to, and it was very rarely accurate.