Chapter 2 - THE BOY UNDER THE TABLE
Madeline stayed on her knees for several seconds.
She didn't move.
She barely breathed.
Liam was still curled beneath the coffee table, his tiny body pressed against the wall as if he believed the furniture could protect him.
“Liam,” she whispered again. “Mommy's here.”
The boy shook his head violently.
“No Mommy.”
The words struck harder than any scream.
Madeline swallowed the pain.
She wanted to reach for him, but something inside her told her not to.
So she slowly lowered her hands to the floor.
“Okay,” she whispered. “I won't touch you.”
Liam peeked at her through his fingers.
Madeline smiled through tears.
“You can stay right there. Mommy will stay right here.”
For nearly a minute, neither of them moved.
Then Liam slowly crawled forward.
He stopped halfway.
His eyes remained fixed on Madeline.
She noticed something then.
A bruise.
Just above his wrist.
Purple.
Fresh.
Her stomach twisted.
“Who hurt you?”
Liam immediately pulled his sleeve over it.
Behind her, Jeffrey cleared his throat.
“Madeline, you're making this worse.”
She turned.
Her husband's expression was strangely calm.
Too calm.
“You see a bruised four-year-old crawling around on the floor,” she said quietly, “and your first concern is that I'm making things worse?”
Jeffrey rubbed his forehead.
“He's always been difficult.”
“Difficult?”
“He throws tantrums. He refuses to eat properly. He doesn't talk much anymore.”
Madeline stared at him.
“Doesn't talk much anymore?”
Jeffrey shrugged.
“He's changed.”
“No,” Madeline said.
Her voice was quiet.
“You changed.”
Cynthia rolled her eyes.
“Oh, please. You were gone for two years.”
Madeline looked at her.
“And you were here.”
Cynthia smiled.
“Yes.”
The answer came too easily.
Madeline's eyes narrowed.
“Why?”
Cynthia's smile disappeared.
Jeffrey stepped between them.
“Enough.”
“No.”
Madeline stood.
“I want to know why my husband's secretary was living in my house while I was overseas.”
“She wasn't living here,” Jeffrey said.
Cynthia immediately looked at him.
That tiny glance told Madeline everything.
Jeffrey noticed it too.
“Cynthia was helping with Austin.”
“Austin?”
Madeline looked toward the little boy sitting beside Noelle.
The child was probably three.
He was holding a silver spoon.
Noelle kissed his forehead.
“Sweetheart, don't listen to all this.”
Madeline's voice trembled.
“Who is he?”
Nobody answered.
She looked at Jeffrey.
“Who is Austin?”
Jeffrey's jaw tightened.
“Cynthia's nephew.”
Cynthia nodded.
“That's right.”
Madeline didn't believe a word of it.
She walked toward the dining room.
“Where is Liam's bedroom?”
Jeffrey blocked her.
“Upstairs.”
“I know where it is.”
“Madeline—”
She pushed past him.
The hallway suddenly felt unfamiliar.
The house had been remodeled.
New photographs lined the walls.
New furniture.
New decorations.
But there was almost nothing of Liam.
No drawings.
No toys.
No family pictures.
She opened his bedroom door.
Her breath stopped.
The room was almost empty.
There was a thin mattress on the floor.
One blanket.
A plastic cup.
A broken stuffed rabbit.
The windows were locked.
There were scratches around the inside of the door.
Madeline walked toward them.
Her fingers trembled.
Someone had scratched words into the wooden frame.
I WANT MOMMY.
She covered her mouth.
Behind her, Jeffrey said quietly,
“He did that himself.”
Madeline turned.
“Don't lie to me.”
“I'm not.”
She walked closer.
“Where is his bed?”
“He stopped sleeping in it.”
“Why?”
“He said he didn't like it.”
“Why?”
Jeffrey had no answer.
Madeline opened the closet.
There were three pairs of old clothes.
All too small.
She turned back slowly.
“How long has he been living like this?”
Jeffrey looked away.
“Madeline…”
“How long?”
Noelle appeared in the doorway.
“You're behaving hysterically.”
Madeline stared at her.
“My son has been sleeping on a mattress on the floor.”
“He prefers it.”
“He's four.”
“He's difficult.”
Madeline's eyes filled with tears.
“No.”
Her voice became strangely calm.
“He isn't difficult.”
She pointed downstairs.
“You made him afraid.”
Nobody answered.
Madeline pulled out her phone.
Jeffrey frowned.
“What are you doing?”
“Taking pictures.”
“Of what?”
“Everything.”
He stepped toward her.
“Give me the phone.”
Madeline immediately stepped back.
“No.”
“I'm your husband.”
“And he's my son.”
Silence.
Then Liam screamed downstairs.
Madeline ran.
She found him beside the coffee table, curled into himself.
Cynthia stood nearby.
“I barely touched him,” she said.
Madeline dropped beside Liam.
“Liam?”
The boy was shaking.
Madeline looked at Cynthia.
“What happened?”
“He grabbed Austin's toy.”
Madeline looked at Austin.
The little boy was holding a red truck.
Liam had nothing.
Madeline noticed something on the floor.
A tiny black device.
A recording device.
She stared at it.
Nobody noticed.
She quietly picked it up.
There was a red light blinking.
Recording.
Madeline slipped it into her pocket.
Then she looked at Jeffrey.
“I'm taking my son.”
Jeffrey laughed nervously.
“You can't just walk in here and take him.”
“I'm his mother.”
“And I'm his father.”
Madeline looked him directly in the eyes.
“Then you should have acted like one.”
She picked Liam up.
For the first time, he didn't fight her.
He buried his face against her shoulder.
And whispered three words.
“Don't leave me.”
Madeline closed her eyes.
“I won't.”
She carried him upstairs.
But before she reached the bedroom, her phone vibrated.
A message had appeared from an unknown number.
YOU SHOULD HAVE COME HOME TWO YEARS AGO.
Then another.
NOW YOU NEED TO KNOW WHAT HAPPENED THE NIGHT YOU LEFT.
Madeline stopped walking.
A third message arrived.
CHECK THE LOCKED DRAWER IN YOUR HUSBAND'S OFFICE.
She stared at the screen.
Then slowly looked toward Jeffrey's office.
For the first time since returning home, Madeline smiled.
May you like
Not because she was happy.
Because she finally knew where to start.
