“You said you had the sound system install,” she said. “And I have the conference. Are we supposed to just… not work because our child doesn’t like being told no?”
Her voice had that thin, reasonable edge that made you sound insane for disagreeing. Like she was presenting facts at trial and I was some idiot in the back row yelling feelings.
The truth was, the install mattered. I ran a little music shop on the edge of town—guitars, pedals, old amps that smelled like dust and electricity. It was my whole life before Hannah. My whole life after, too, if I was honest. And this weekend I’d promised a local church I’d wire their new speakers in time for Easter rehearsal. If I backed out, I’d lose the job and probably two more after that.
Still, Eli’s voice didn’t leave my head. Please don’t leave me there.
“What did Grandma do?” I asked him.
Eli hesitated. His little brows pressed together like he was trying to remember the right version of the story, the safe version.
“She makes me stand,” he said. “In the laundry room. And I can’t move. And the light buzzes.”
I pictured it instantly. Diane’s laundry room was in the basement. A low ceiling. Bare bulb fixture. That kind of fluorescent tube that flickered like it was angry about existing. The buzzing would get under your skin.
“She says if I cry, it takes longer,” Eli added. “And she puts her timer on.”
Hannah finally turned her head then, eyes flashing. Not with concern. With irritation that he was speaking.
“Enough,” she snapped. “Don’t lie.”
Eli flinched like he’d been slapped. Not physically. But it landed the same.
“I’m not lying,” he said, and now tears rolled down his cheeks fast, like a faucet turned on. “I’m not. Daddy, please.”
My throat tightened. I wanted to pull over. I wanted to turn around. I wanted to do literally anything except keep driving toward Diane’s house.
But the road kept feeding us forward, lane lines sliding under the hood in smooth, indifferent stripes.
“We’ve been over this,” Hannah said, calmer now in a way that scared me more. Calm meant she’d decided. Calm meant she expected obedience. “Mom is helping. You’re going to thank her.”
Eli made a small choking sound, like he was trying not to sob too loud. His shoulders shook.
I tried again, softer. “Eli, it’s just two nights. I’ll pick you up Sunday. We’ll get pancakes and go to the lake, okay?”
He didn’t say yes. He didn’t say anything. He just stared out the window like he was watching the world go by without him.
That look… it was too old for his face. A kind of resignation I’d seen in adults leaving jobs they hated, not in a six-year-old with astronaut patches on his backpack.
Diane’s neighborhood always looked like it was holding its breath. Same beige houses, same trimmed shrubs, same flags hanging in perfect rectangles. Even the wind felt controlled there.
We pulled up to her place and the first thing that hit me was how clean everything was. Not just tidy. Clean in a way that felt like scrubbing away evidence.
Her driveway was swept. Her porch steps were spotless. A little ceramic goose sat by the door with a seasonal scarf, like it was auditioning for a magazine spread.
Diane opened the door before we even knocked.
She was small but solid, the kind of woman whose posture never surrendered. Gray hair cut blunt at her jaw. Lips pressed together like she was always disappointed.
“Well,” she said, like we were late for boot camp. “There he is.”
Eli’s hand found mine without looking. His fingers were cold, death-grip tight.
“Hi, Diane,” I said.
She nodded at me like I was a delivery person. Then her eyes snapped to Eli.
“Shoes off,” she said.
Eli froze.
Hannah leaned back into the car and unbuckled him with quick, annoyed movements. “Come on,” she hissed. “Don’t start.”
Eli’s face crumpled again. He turned to me, eyes wide and wet.
“Dad,” he whispered, barely audible. “Please.”
I crouched beside him. The car smelled like warm plastic and Hannah’s peppermint gum and Eli’s fear. I wanted to trap that smell in a jar and shove it under my own nose forever, so I’d never forget this moment.
“I love you,” I told him. “I’ll be back soon. If anything feels wrong, you call me. You hear me?”
His little fingers squeezed my sleeve like he could anchor himself to me.
Diane watched us, expression flat.
“No whispering,” she said. “We don’t do secrets.”
Hannah stood up straight, like she was relieved Diane had said it. Like it proved something.
I pulled Eli into a quick hug anyway. He smelled like shampoo and the peanut butter toast he’d eaten too fast.
“I’ll be back,” I promised again.
Eli didn’t answer. He just stared over my shoulder at Diane’s dark hallway, like it had teeth.
Hannah kissed the top of his head, more like a stamp than affection. “Be good,” she said. “Don’t embarrass me.”
And then Diane took Eli’s hand.
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