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As we get closer to the school, my mind flits back to the package I signed for. I don’t remember ordering anything, but then again my mind tends to be a sieve with the amount of things I’m always trying to remember. Maybe Tristan ordered something and put it in my name? It wouldn’t be the first time he’s done it so the package doesn’t end up back at their warehouse when he’s not here to sign for it.
I frown. But then he would have told me to expect a package.
I shake the thoughts from my head as we pull up to the school behind all of the other black town cars and Escalades. Kids step out, the boys in blue blazers and the girls in checked dresses. When it’s our turn, I hop out of the car.
“Have a good day,” I tell them both, kissing Clay on his cheek and giving Izzie a hug. They trail inside, getting lost in the crowd before I climb back inside the car and lean the back of my head against the seat for a brief second.
I follow the other cars out of the exit, heading back the way we came as I start to make a mental list of what I need to do when I get back to the house. First I need to tackle the kitchen, giving the oven a deep clean along with the refrigerator before I head on upstairs and change the kids beds. Once I have that washing and the rooms cleaned I can head downstairs and start in the main room before tackling all of those floors with my special steam mop. I hate those floors, they’re the bane of my life.
Parking the car in front of the garage, I jump out and head inside. The first thing my gaze lands on when I open the door is the package. I pick it up, pushing the door shut with my ass before heading into the kitchen.
Humming under my breath, I pick up the half a slice of toast Izzie left as I pop the package on the table and head over to the knife block.
Pulling the biggest knife out, I twirl it in my hand as I move my hips to the beat I’m humming as I walk across the kitchen.
I stop in front of the package, titling my head to the side at the sticker on the side that says, “fragile.” A smile lifts up the side of my lips as I take another bite of toast before spinning the knife around again and plunging it into the cardboard, running it along the tape.
My humming gets louder as I throw the knife down on the table, the clanking sound resonating off the wooden surface. Yanking the flaps of the box open, I rummage through all of the black tissue paper. When I feel something hard hit the tips of my fingers, I throw the last bit of toast down next to the knife.
Pulling the rectangular ivory box out, I run my fingers over the surface of it. It’s covered in a light pink pattern and encased in bronze that’s engraved. A small wind-up handle sits on the side and when I try to move it, it doesn’t budge, almost as if it’s been glued into place.
I don’t understand why this has been sent to me. Did Tristan order it for Izzie?
My curiosity gets the better of me and I lift up the small metal latch that keeps it closed.
I pull the top up, my breath catching as I see the ballerina inside that’s supposed to be standing proud but instead lies broken inside the box. The music sounds, reverberating around the room, causing my vision to blur.
It slips from my hands, clashing onto the floor but not closing as I back away, my head shaking back and forth so fiercely I’m sure to give myself whiplash. My breaths become gasps as the music fills the room; the same music that used to play on the music mobile that hung over her cot. The only thing that seemed to settle her.
I squeeze my eyes closed, wrapping my arms around myself as goose bumps spread all over my skin.
I don’t want to go back there; I don’t want to remember.
I twist
the little knob on the side of the musical mobile hanging over the cot. Stars and a moon hang from it, fascinating her as she tries to catch them, but they’re out of reach of her little chubby hands.
Her mouth opens and she coos as the music surrounds us. I hum along with the tune, reaching down and running my finger down her cheek and staring into her dark-brown eyes. Eyes that watch me intently before they start to close and her little legs stop kicking out. Her chest rises and falls on a deep breath as she falls asleep.
Still I don’t move, watching her, obsessed with how soft her skin is as the music keeps playing and the moon twirls around the stars on a continuous loop.
I fall back into the counter as my eyes spring open. This can’t be happening. It’s taken years to try and forget. Trying to not relive the memory of that night.
I’ve managed to go under the radar this far, so why now? How did they find me? I made sure to cover my tracks, there’s no way they can know who I am—where I am.
But as I lean down, my hands shaking so hard I have to ball them into fists, I see they have found me.
My eyes focus on the words written in red on the mirror behind where the ballerina is supposed to be.
“You can run, but you can’t hide.”
My nostrils flare as I stare at it wide-eyed before slamming the lid down on the box, the rattling from the broken ballerina echoing throughout the room.
The game is up. They’ve found me.
“Oh, dear lord,” Freya scoffs as I strut into the reception area of my law firm, winking at both her and Tara—two of our receptionists.
“Morning, ladies.”
