Megan

As I push the front door open, I’m surprised the house is still lit up at almost eleven o’clock at night. My flight was late, late enough that Laney should be in bed by now. But as I lug my suitcase into the foyer, and can’t find my husband or my daughter, I assume they’re hiding from me, waiting to welcome me home as soon as I find them.

“Laney,” I call out. “Where are you, baby? Connor?”

A tall brunette in a business suit sits at the island in the kitchen, waving her hands around frantically as she talks into her cell phone. There’s a glass of white wine in front of her, most likely my favorite Moscato.

My first reaction is to pull her off the stool and ask her why she’s sitting in my house, but I hang back by the doorway, listening to her conversation. “Connor has no idea, Mia. I promise there’s no way it’ll be a problem. He told me I can trust him, and this is my way of making sure I can.”

Knowing she’s here for my husband, in my house, drinking my wine, only makes the rage inside me build. How could he bring her into our home? Better yet, how did she even get inside if he isn’t here?

I’m scared enough that I’m shaking, and I as I tap her on her shoulder, my hand trembles. “Excuse me,” I say with more apprehension than venom.

She turns around so fast, her extensions slap her in the face. “What are you doing here?”

“I’d like to ask you the same thing, but I think I already have a pretty good idea. Where’s my husband?”

She ends her phone call, slamming it down on the marble countertop. “Connor told me to meet him here at nine-thirty, after his daughter was in bed. You definitely weren’t supposed to be here.”

“You know about me? And you don’t care?”

“It is what it is,” she says rudely. “But I guess he had his facts mixed up.”

“If Connor’s not here, how did you get inside?”

“With my key.”

My heart pounds so hard in my chest, I can feel my pulse thumping in both ears. Like I’m stuck under the water in a tunnel, I’m desperately trying to kick my way to the surface before I run out of oxygen.

In the pit of my stomach, I had a feeling Connor was seeing someone else, but it hurt too much to imagine him romantically involved with another woman. He’s mine. He’s always been mine. And I have no idea why that’s changed for him.

“Have you been here before?” I ask her, even though I’m afraid to hear the answer to my own question.

“Yes,” she answers, simply. No explanation—nothing. I deserve so much more than that.

I should yell at her, rip her fake hair out, and toss her bitchy ass out on the front porch where it belongs. Anything to show her that she can’t come into my house and wait for my husband. I don’t say a word though. My body is shaking too hard, and my teeth are chattering like I’m standing in a foot of snow completely naked. That’s how exposed I feel with her in my home.

When I don’t move, she asks, “Are you okay?”

“Do I look okay?”

She shrugs her shoulders like she doesn’t need to give my question a dignified response. I hate her even more.

I’m devastated Connor used my time away to play house with another woman instead of spending quality time with our daughter. I’m sad it took me this long to come to terms with what I already knew was going on behind my back. More than anything, I’m crushed that I have the proof standing in front of me that he’s nothing more than a lying, cheating asshole.

“You need to leave,” I tell her when she doesn’t offer to leave on her own.

She doesn’t argue, and I don’t even bother to ask for her name. It doesn’t matter. All that matters is my daughter, and right now, she’s not where she’s supposed to be—safe and sound in her bed.

As soon as she’s gone, I dial Connor’s number. It rings the standard four times before going to voicemail. There’s no return call, no text, nothing from him—and I’m worried.

I pull my laptop out of the bag I brought it home in, cursing the Wi-Fi for taking so long to connect. As soon as the search engine pops up, I type in the name of the closest hospital. My fingers are so cold I spell it wrong two times before I get the letters in the right places.

The first number I spot is for the emergency room, so that’s the one I call. Every mother’s worst nightmare comes true as I beg the receptionist to search for my tiny family. The one I never imagined could break. “Connor Campbell and Laney Campbell,” I tell her.

“Ma’am, they’re both listed. Connor is here, but Laney has been transferred to Children’s Hospital.”

“Ohmigod.”

When I dialed the number, I never imagined that’s where they’d actually be. I was praying it was a flat tire, or maybe they ran out of gas and had to take a walk.

Now that I found them, I have a million questions I need answers to, but I’m not going to get any of those until I get to the hospital, so I hang up and try to put one foot in front of the other despite my legs feeling like cement and my feet like bricks.

As I run around my living room, searching for Laney’s favorite doll, I realize she must have taken it with her. We spent hours in the American Girl store when I took her to New York City at the end of summer. She told me it was heaven on earth and her favorite place in the whole world. Now, she’s lying in some scary hospital without me. My baby is all alone.

What if she’s not okay?

What if my husband isn’t okay?

I can’t breathe.