Chapter 2

Yates leaned down and gave my shoulder a gentle squeeze.

"Winnie, eat your noodles first. You can't leave your stomach empty. I'll explain everything when I get back."

"Do you really have to go right now?"

Yale was still crying in his arms. Before Yates could answer, Yara coughed over the phone, and his attention immediately shifted to her.

"Did you take your medicine?" he asked with a frown.

"I did. Don't worry."

Yates didn't hesitate. He carried Yale out the door.

He never came home that night.

At eight-thirty the next morning, I drove to Yale's preschool.

I'd only been there three times in the past three years.

The first time, Yale had cried so hard when he saw me that he'd started dry-heaving. After the second, Yates told me the psychological intervention wouldn't work if we kept exposing him to the same trigger. The third time, I'd barely parked before Helen called and urged me to go home.

After that, I never set foot inside the school again.

That morning, I scanned my access pass three times, but the same message kept flashing on the screen.

[Unauthorized Pickup Person]

The security guard checked my ID, then gave me a strange look.

"You're Yale Foster's mother? Then who was the woman who went in ahead of you?"

The preschool was rehearsing for its graduation family program that day. When I reached the playground, Yara and Yale were playing together in matching outfits while Yates stood off to the side recording them.

All three of them were smiling.

Then Yale saw me.

His smile vanished. He grabbed onto Yara and screamed.

She immediately pulled him into her arms. "It's okay. Mommy's here."

When she caught me staring, she quickly corrected herself.

"Winnie, I'm sorry. I'm so used to comforting him that it just slipped out."

Yale only cried harder.

"Mommy Yara, don't go!"

Then he glared at me through his tears.

"I don't want Winnie Lawson!"

Yates hurried over and took him into his arms, patiently helping him slow his breathing until he finally calmed down. Only then did he turn to me with a helpless look.

"Why didn't you tell me you were coming?"

"If I'd told you, would I still have been allowed in?"

He fell silent.

Yale sniffled against his chest. "Dad, you said she wasn't coming."

Yates's expression changed. "When did I ever say that?"

"You said if I cried, that bad woman would go home."

The chatter around us stopped.

Clearly embarrassed, Yates handed Yale to Yara. "Take him to the counseling room."

I started to follow, but Yates stepped in front of me. Almost out of habit, he reached over and pulled my zipper all the way up.

"Winnie, you know Yale starts dry-heaving when he gets this upset. If you love him, don't push him right now."

Then he hurried after Yara.

Ms. Carter, Yale's teacher, hesitated for a long moment before taking me to the office.

That was where I saw his electronic records.

Yates Foster was listed as his primary guardian. Yara Xavier was his primary caregiver.

Her name was also in the field marked "Mother."

I checked the date.

The information had been entered on the exact day I'd first gone to pick Yale up.

Then I kept reading.

Over the past three years, the preschool had held forty-six family activities. I'd signed up for every single one, only for Yates to cancel my registration through the parent account each time.

Yara hadn't missed a single event.

Ms. Carter's face went pale.

"We always thought... you didn't want to participate."

Yates walked in just then. I turned away, unwilling to acknowledge him, but he came straight over and caught my wrist, his voice softening.

"Honey, I'll change the records back today. Let me make up everything you missed over the last three years, little by little. Okay?"

Before I could answer, a message from Yara came through.

[Yale locked himself in the counseling room.]

Yates let go of me at once.

"Winnie, wait for me."

The door closed behind him again.

I looked down at Yale's diagnosis report, took out my phone, and photographed it.

For three years, every one of them had been telling me my son was sick.

This time, I was going to the hospital myself to find out exactly what was going on.