Caroline's Point of ViewI sit cross-legged on Liam’s bed, a worn picture book open across my thighs. The nightlight by his headboard casts soft shadows on the wall—little stars and moons spinning slowly like they’re trying to lull the world to sleep.Liam lies beside me, his toy dinosaur tucked under one arm, the other playing with the edge of his blanket. His eyes blink slowly, heavy with sleep, but he’s fighting it—like always. He never lets the day go without squeezing out every last drop of energy.I run my hand through his curls as I read aloud, voice gentle and warm even though my mind keeps drifting. I don’t even know what page we’re on anymore. Something about a bear and a forest. My mouth moves, but my heart’s not in the story. It’s caught somewhere else—somewhere deeper, somewhere harder.Then Liam turns toward me, eyes wide and d
Caroline’s Point of ViewThe doorbell rings just as I’m drying the last plate from breakfast. A soft, polite chime. Not the kind that feels urgent—just enough to draw attention.I wipe my hands on the dish towel and make my way to the door, my steps slow, unhurried. Liam is somewhere in the living room, building his fifth tower of the morning out of couch cushions and cereal boxes.When I open the door, there’s no one.Just a box.Brown, medium-sized, nothing particularly special about it at first glance. No delivery man in sight, no truck pulling away. Just the quiet morning and this box sitting at my doorstep.I look up and down the hallway.Empty.Not even the usual neighbor walking their dog.“Mommy!” Liam’s voice rings out from behind me, pounding footsteps following close. “What is it? Is it
Caroline’s Point of ViewI don’t know why I say yes.Maybe it’s exhaustion. Maybe it’s guilt. Maybe it’s the way Knoxx’s voice cracked on the phone when he said Liam’s name for the first time in weeks.But more than anything… maybe it’s because when I looked over and saw Liam crouched on the floor, pushing his red toy car over a pile of cereal boxes he’d made into ramps, my heart tightened in a way I couldn’t ignore.[Please, Caroline. Just one hour. I won’t say anything you don’t want me to. I just… I need to be near him. Please.]The man on the other end of the line sounded nothing like the Knoxx Wayne the world saw—he didn’t sound confident, or cocky, or even certain. He sounded stripped. Like a man unraveling thread by thread.I told him I’d think about
Caroline’s Point of ViewIt’s a Tuesday, and I wake up knowing I won’t go into the office today.I don’t text my secretary right away, even though I should. I just lie there beside Liam, watching his chest rise and fall with every tiny, peaceful breath. His arm is slung over my stomach, his fingers tangled in the hem of my shirt like he’s still afraid I’ll vanish while he sleeps.I smooth his curls away from his forehead, my throat tightening at the innocence in his face. The unshakable trust. The safety he feels with me.God, how much longer can I keep that promise?I close my eyes, just for a moment. But instead of sleep, I see that grainy video again.Adrian.Standing outside my old boutique.Watching.Smiling.I hear his voice, layered over the image like a ghost: “I’ll handle everything from now on.”And I
Caroline’s Point of ViewI avoid Adrian for two days.I tell him I’m swamped at Hill International—meetings, investor decks, upcoming audits, you name it. And to be fair, some of it is true. I’ve buried myself in numbers, in reports, in logistics that don’t require emotion or trust or instinct. Because those things feel too raw right now. Too unreliable.But work isn’t the reason I stay away.Not really.The truth is, I’ve been replaying every conversation we’ve ever had—every touch, every carefully timed act of kindness, every smile that once felt like safety. I scroll through the archives of our relationship like I’m combing through evidence in a case I never realized I was a witness in.And the file—the footage—won’t leave me alone.That image. Him standing o
Caroline’s Point of ViewThe message arrives after midnight, in the thick hush of the apartment when even the shadows seem asleep.I’m sitting on the edge of my bed, legs curled under me, laptop open but untouched. My fingers hover over the keyboard, still unsure what I’m searching for. Answers? Distractions? Something to drown out the noise building in my head?Then a soft chime.One new email.I glance at the screen. My breath stutters.It’s not from anyone I know.Just a line of numbers—no subject, no greeting. But the sender name reads only one word:Fixer.My stomach knots.This isn’t my secretary. Or Penelope. Or Dad. Only a handful of people even know this account exists. It’s an old, near-dead inbox I used for school back when