Chapter 3

I didn’t want Mom to worry, so I mimicked what I’d seen her do and put my clothes in the washer, then mopped up the mess.

When she came back and saw I’d changed, she asked why.

I blushed and lied, saying I’d had an accident. She laughed at me for days over that.

Dad, of course, wouldn’t find me in my room now, because “I” was already in a little urn.

He glared at Mom. “Helen, you’re crafty, aren’t you? Hiding the kid before bringing up divorce.”

“You have no money, no job, no background, and you know you wouldn’t win custody. You’re trying to hold on to him to keep me close, huh? Want money, is that it? How sly can you get?”

“Fine, we can divorce, and I might even give you a little something. But Charlie stays with me.”

Mom listened to his cruel words without saying a word. Then she stood up, grabbed her packed bags and my urn, and walked out without looking back.

Dad shouted after her, “Go! Get as far away as you can! If it weren’t for my parents, I’d never have married you. Don’t come crawling back!”

Even though I knew Dad couldn’t hear me, I shouted at him, “I don’t want to go with you. I want Mom! You’re a bad dad!”

I then ran to catch up with Mom, leaving that hateful place behind.

Mom used to tell me stories before bed, including how she and Dad met. She probably thought I was too young to understand, but I remembered every detail clearly.

Mom and Dad had known each other since childhood. Their families were close friends, and they had been engaged from a young age.

Later, Mom’s family suffered financial ruin. Grandma and Grandpa, unable to bear the blow, passed away one after the other.

Patrick’s parents, Mr. and Mrs. Monroe, took in my mom, who was still in middle school, and insisted that the engagement be honored.

At first, they were too young to grasp the concept of marriage, so they just went about their days eating, laughing, and playing together as close friends.

But when they reached college, Dad fell for Caroline Bishop. Caroline, however, didn’t feel the same way. She was in love with her professor, a married man in his forties.

She even followed him abroad.

Dad wanted to follow her.

Mr. and Mrs. Monroe were furious and confined him to the house, forcing him to marry Mom.

Mom said she never really loved Dad. She had been cherished and protected by her parents and later by Patrick’s parents, never facing hardship—a flower in a greenhouse. If she didn’t marry him, she wouldn’t have known where to go or what to do.

Besides, Mr. and Mrs. Monroe had raised her with the sole hope of her marrying Patrick. She couldn’t turn her back on that.

Mom thought that, at the very least, their childhood bond would allow them to live as respectful partners.

But Dad grew to resent her for it.

He thought Mom had been after the family’s wealth and feared that if he married someone else, she would no longer benefit from the title of fiancée or Mrs. Monroe.

He was convinced she had tattled on him and begged Mr. and Mrs. Monroe to push the marriage.

To him, she was the one who had stopped him from pursuing his love, separating him from his true happiness.

From what I could remember, Dad hardly ever came home.

Especially after Caroline reentered his life, every visit ended in a bitter argument.

Mom and I moved into an apartment that Mr. and Mrs. Monroe had signed over to her before their deaths.

Maybe they foresaw this day and wanted her to have a place of refuge.

The small apartment was cozy. Mom placed “me” in a corner on a low cabinet. I heard her speaking to me, “Charlie, I’m sorry I couldn’t take better care of you these past few days. I’ve been so overwhelmed. I’ll find you a resting place soon, okay?”

I nodded, but remembering she couldn’t see me, I felt a wave of sadness.

Mom would never see me again.

We’d never bake cookies, build towers with blocks, or share bedtime stories…

I followed her as she searched for a cemetery.

Mom picked a spot high up on a hill where we could see the amusement park in the distance, with its giant Ferris wheel turning slowly.

Just as she was about to sign some papers handed over by a manager, her phone rang. It was the property manager at Maplewood Apartments, telling her someone had forced their way inside.

Mom rushed to grab a cab back. Mark Sanders, the property manager, and James Turner, the security guard, were held back by a few large men.

Inside, Dad’s voice roared, “How hard is it to search a few rooms? Where is he?”

Mom hurried into the room. “What do you think you’re doing?”

Patrick Monroe stood with his hands in his pockets, glaring at her. “Good, you’re here. Hand over Charlie. I’m taking him to apologize to Caroline.”