Chapter 3

After some time, I finally stood up and walked into the bedroom.

The kids were squeezed into the tiny bed and sleeping soundly.

My younger son, Lionel Holloway, was four years old and liked having something to hold in his sleep. The teddy bear he had brought from home was misshapen from the way he clutched it every night.

My older daughter, Lila Holloway, was eight, and she slept in wild positions. Her leg was draped over Lionel.

I moved her leg gently off of him and tucked the blanket more securely around them.

Lila turned over and muttered in her sleep. It sounded like she was calling for me.

Tears stung my eyes, and I quickly went back outside.

I wanted to call my mother.

I keyed in her number before I deleted it again.

It had been eleven years.

Eleven years ago, I had sworn to my parents that I would be fine.

How worried would they be if I called them in the middle of the night, telling them I had walked out with my children and was getting divorced?

I decided against it. Tomorrow, I would come up with something.

Then, I buried my face in my pillow.

The next few days passed quite calmly.

In the morning, I sent the kids to school before returning home to clean up a bit. For lunch, I made something simple, then headed out for groceries in the afternoon. Once I got back, I made dinner.

My daily routine suddenly slowed down, and I was not used to having so much time on my hands.

Back when I lived with Jackson, I was busy all day long. I would make him lunch and take it to him. Between cleaning and organizing everything around the house, I always felt like there were not enough hours in the day.

However, I did not have to cook for Jackson anymore. Suddenly, I had a lot of free time, and I did not know what to do with it.

Sometimes, I just sat there and daydreamed. I could do that for half the day.

Jackson did not come looking for me. He did not even call.

After hanging up that first night, he called many times. But after I rejected all the calls, he stopped trying.

I did not know what he was thinking. Maybe he was waiting for me to go crawling back to him.

But I would not do that. I did not want to give him the satisfaction.

For the past ten years, I had always given in after every fight, no matter who was at fault.

I would not do that again.

On the fifth day, Lila asked when we were going home. I told her that we were already home.

She said no and asked about going home to her father.

I did not know what to tell her, so I said that Jackson had gone on a business trip. We would make a decision once he returned.

On the sixth day, Lionel got a fever.

I carried him to the hospital. It took the whole day. By the time we got home, it was already dark.

Lila was starving as she slumped over the desk, doing her homework. When she saw me come in, she immediately threw herself in my arms.

“You’re finally home, Mom! I’m so hungry.”

I made her some pasta, fed Lionel his medication, and took his temperature. It was only after they both went to sleep that I realized I had not yet eaten.

There were some leftovers in the freezer. I heated it and ate it.

As I ate, tears streamed down my face and dropped onto my plate.

I was not crying because I was tired. It was because I recalled something. Jackson had never taken me to the hospital when I fell sick.

He was always busy and said he could not leave work. I always had to take a cab.

Once, I had a high fever, but I still cooked for him before going to see a doctor.

He said he was not used to eating outside food because he only ever ate my cooking. Back then, I thought that made perfect sense.

Thinking about it in the present, I found it absurd.

The next morning, Lionel’s fever broke.

I sent them both to school. At the school gates, I saw Jackson’s car.

He leaned against the car door and smoked. When he saw me coming over, he put out the cigarette.

Lila and Lionel ran over to him. “Dad! Dad!”

Jackson leaned down to hug them. After he exchanged a few words with them, Lila turned to look at me before pulling Lionel inside.

Once they were in the building, Jackson walked over to me.

“Cerise…” he said. He stood before me and gave me a once-over.

“Where have you been staying the past week? How are the kids?”

“Is something the matter? If not, I’d like to leave.”

“Stay right there.” Jackson grabbed me by the arm.

“What are you doing, Cerise? You don’t come home, and you don’t answer my calls. What do you want?”

I looked at his hand. “Let go.”

Jackson let go but did not move away. “Tell me, do you have someone else?”