I guess it all started on the day I was born. Choices. I tend to make the wrong ones. Specifically, I’ve always been drawn to the wrong people, and it started with my mom and dad. Mama didn’t want me. Even before she met me, she wanted to get rid of me. Somehow, my dad talked her into having me, but when she left the hospital after giving birth, she didn’t take me with her.
I guess I should have been grateful toward him. If not for him, I’d be a goopy mass of medical waste. But truth was, he didn’t really want me either. Sometimes, I wondered if I would have been better off if mama would have gone with her choice, instead of his.
A psychiatrist could psychoanalyze me pretty quickly—I was that cliched patient, the one who made it easy to set forth guidelines and criteria for dysfunction—mama left me, and daddy abused me, so I was destined to choose shitty partners as a result. Simple as that. My entire psychiatric profile wrapped up in a neat little bow.
But there weren’t any warning signs when it came to Martin, not really. He was sweet, tender even, for those first two years we dated…but looking back, he wasn’t the only bad choice I made. In high school, I chose the wrong friends. My dating life before Martin was a nightmare.
How could I have chosen so wrongly? How could I have been so blind?
Moonlight slithered through the open window above my bed. I had an upside-down view of the stars. There were so many of them, more stars than I’d ever seen from my window back home in Tennessee.
They made me feel insignificant. And that’s exactly how I wanted to feel when I brought Lily to the cabin—like particles of dust in the wind, floating around unseen and unkept. Forgotten.
Why couldn’t Martin just forget us? Why couldn’t he let us go?
Back in Granton, our home was like a battleground. But I guess, for Martin, it wasn’t so bad because he was the one waging war. I was just a casualty.
And now Lily is a casualty too.
I could still taste the bottle of wine I’d drank before bed. Turning on my side didn’t help. I curled my knees to my chest, fighting back the urge to throw up.
It wasn’t morning, but it wasn’t night, I could tell from the slant of the moon. It must be two, maybe three, in the morning now? Where is my daughter? Is she sleeping? Is she safe?
My mouth watered with nausea as I fumbled around with the covers, searching for my cell phone in the dark. Instead I found my pack of Listerine strips. I slid one out and tossed it on the back of my tongue. I’d gotten into the habit of using them. Martin preferred fresh breath at all times.
I’d called Martin’s phone nearly a hundred times today, asking him to call me back. Begging him to bring me my daughter. There was no point in keeping my location a secret anymore—he obviously already knew we were here. He’d taken my Lily. Oh, god…Lily…
I’d expected him to answer the phone, to demand that I come home if I ever wanted to see her again. But the calls went straight to voicemail.
He’s not going to give her back.
I was too drunk to cry and too drunk to panic. My limbs felt numb and I hated myself for enjoying the nothingness I felt inside.
My entire soul was numb.
I’m like a chunk of ice, pieces chipped away.
How much of me is left? Is there anything worth saving if I don’t have Lily?
What if he took her and moved away, just like I tried to do? What if he decided that he didn’t need me anymore? Now he can focus on Lily—a younger victim, a younger me…
I couldn’t hold it in anymore. I leapt from the bed and ran for the bathroom, barely reaching the commode before vomit sprang from my mouth and nose.
What am I going to do? How will I get Lily back?
I’d tried to reach that cop on her phone, but she hadn’t been available.
Dammit. I’ve lost Lily, and no one can help me save her. Not even the police.
An Amber Alert wasn’t issued. The cops wouldn’t return my calls.
What else can I do?
Wiping the back of my mouth with my robe sleeve, I drifted down the hallway and back to my bedroom. Suddenly, I felt sober again. Dark shadows danced on the walls. I stared at one; it looked just like the dark silhouette of a man.
Panic slammed against my chest as I flipped on the bedroom light.
Nothing. No one is in my room.
I yanked the covers off the bed, my cell phone smacking the floor as it fell out of the crumpled blanket.
I stared at the screen, squinting sleep and drunkenness from my eyes, willing Martin to call me…to give her back…
I’d searched the woods and wandered around the property today, feeling helpless. But I couldn’t look for long because every time I tried to go outside, invisible walls came crushing in and I couldn’t breathe…
But hunger is a disgusting thing—after a while, it supersedes all rational thought. I’d barely eaten in two days, so I’d gone out to the supermarket at dusk. I’d ran up and down the aisles, like a madwoman, breathing in through my nose and out through my mouth, finally settling on some booze and peanut butter.
I thought that by the time the sun went down, Martin would call or show up.
But he never called. He never came.
I couldn’t protect Lily in Tennessee, and I can’t protect her now.
Martin wouldn’t give her back unless he wanted to, and they were probably long gone by now.
Maybe I’m like mama and I never should have had a kid in the first place. At least not until I had a partner better than Martin.
The tiny black phone in my hand was foreign. My white iPhone I’d left behind was larger, and much more capable. I squinted down at the tiny screen. No missed calls, but there was one text message. My heart leapt as I clicked on it, praying it was from Martin.
My eyes stung with tears as I saw who it was from. Al.
Al: You told me to wait at least 24 hours before texting you on this number. I hope you’re okay…I’ve been so worried about you.
I laid back down on the bed, clutching the phone like an old friend. A message from Al was like salve on an open wound. I typed out a message in response, then erased it.
What if it’s not really Al? What if it’s Martin trying to trick me?
Al and I had been talking for almost a year, but we hadn’t communicated over text until now. Usually we just chatted online. But I’d confessed I was leaving Martin and had texted my new number. I’d warned Al not to message me on it until I was far away from Granton.
Martin frequently looked through my cell phone and checked my internet history. He checked my emails daily, too, although no one ever emailed me anymore.
Knitting was my one hobby he seemed to support—probably because his own mother used to knit—and he never minded when I looked up ideas or asked for advice in my knitting chat room. That’s where I’d met Al. I didn’t really care much for knitting, but it was the one place I had a friend.
And now, seeing a message from my friend on my cell phone, I was overcome with relief.
I typed out another message, clicking send before I could change my mind.
Me: I don’t know what to do. I’m so scared. He found out where I am. When I woke up this morning, Lily was gone. He took my bunny away.
I stared at the phone, nibbling on a hangnail as I waited for a response. Al was the only person who knew my situation, who understood what this getaway meant for me and Lily.
Suddenly, the phone started ringing, the sound of it so shocking, so surreal. I saw Al’s name flash up on the screen. After a year of only talking online, I was about to hear Al’s voice.
I took a deep breath then answered. “I-Is that r-really you?”