PART 3
She had written birthday cards to me for thirteen years. Grocery lists. Notes she left on my kitchen counter. Recipes. Even a handwritten congratulations card when I gave birth to Zoe.
I knew every curve of those letters.
This was hers.
But the words didn’t make sense.
Why would she write that?
Why would she have my ultrasound picture?
And more importantly—
Why had she written coming home?
I walked to the kitchen and opened the junk drawer.
I pulled out the small notebook where I kept household expenses.
Mortgage.
Utilities.
Insurance.
Groceries.
Then I saw something I hadn’t noticed before.
A pending authorization.
$8,750 — North Ridge Children’s Furnishings.
I stared at it.
I had never heard of the company.
I clicked the transaction.
The description appeared.
Nursery furniture package — delivery address: 418 Willow Lane.
My address.
My house.
I felt cold all over.
I searched my email.
Nothing.
Then I checked the shared account.
The order had been placed using a card connected to the household account.
But the purchaser’s name was Lorraine.
I closed my eyes.
She wasn’t just planning to control the kitchen.
She was furnishing a nursery.
My nursery.
For my baby.
I picked up my phone and called Mark.
Straight to voicemail.
I called again.
Nothing.
A third time.
Still nothing.
Then a message appeared.
Mark: On my way home. What’s wrong?
I typed:
Did you know your mother ordered $8,750 worth of nursery furniture using our household account?
I stared at the message.
Then deleted it.
If Lorraine had been planning this carefully, I didn’t want to warn her through him.
Instead, I wrote:
We need to talk tonight.
His reply came almost immediately.
About Mom?
My heart stopped.
I typed:
Why would you assume it’s about your mother?
Three dots appeared.
Disappeared.
Appeared again.
Finally:
Because I know she upset you today.
I looked at the screen.
He knew.
Of course he knew.
Maybe he knew much more than I thought.
I put the phone down.
Then I heard footsteps upstairs.
I froze.
“Mommy?”
Zoe’s sleepy voice came from the hallway.
I turned.
She was standing at the top of the stairs holding her stuffed rabbit.
Her cheek still had a faint red mark.
I walked toward her immediately.
“Why are you awake, sweetheart?”
She came down two steps.
