“I’m sorry,” she said, her voice soft. “But there are questions about supervision. About judgment. There was a claim made… that you were distracted, arguing outside the hospital. That you stormed off.”
My eyes widened. “That’s not true! Let me see my son,” I begged, voice cracking. “Please—just let me say goodbye.”
“Get lost, Arianne!” Celine muttered, walking past me with a venomous smile plastered on her lips.
The next day, I packed in silence. Every fold of clothing, every zip of the suitcase felt heavier than it should. I didn’t cry. I’d cried enough. Losing Liam’s custody left a hollow in my chest that no amount of tears could fill.
I slipped his drawing into my passport—a stick-figure version of us under a crooked sun. It was the only piece of him I could take.
At the airport, I kept my head down. The crowds blurred around me. I was just another woman flying away from something she couldn’t fix.
At the gate, I turned on my phone one last time.
Five missed calls. Three texts.
Zach: Where are you?
Zach: Let’s talk, Arianne.
Zach: Don’t do anything stupid.