“No, Mom. Worse than you know.”
“I’m beginning to understand.”
He exhaled shakily. “Kristen left the house. She took jewelry, cash, documents. She said she’s going to ruin me.”
Of course she had. Predators recognize weakness before victims do.
“Where are you?”
“In my car. Outside your gate.”
I walked to the front window. There it
was, not the black SUV, but Trevor’s silver sports car, angled badly beyond the gate, as if he had pulled in too fast and lost his courage before pressing the intercom. Through the windshield I could see him hunched over the steering wheel.
For a moment I saw the boy again. Then he lifted his head, and I saw the man who had split my lip.
“Stay there,” I said, and hung up.
I didn’t rush. I put the photographs, the separation agreement, and the Kessler note back into the
envelope and walked outside. The cold hit my face.
