Chapter 4
Even though I'd braced myself, the scene still made my breath catch.
There was none of the heavy makeup or drunken mess I'd imagined.
Mandy lay there, motionless. If that even counted as lying.
She wore a nightgown so faded it was nearly white, stained with large, dark red patches.
Blood. Dried, almost black.
Her face was swollen beyond recognition, one eye wide open, its cloudy gaze fixed on the ceiling. Blood was still smeared at the corner of her mouth.
Her hands were twisted, frozen in the shape of violence.
And in her arms, she clutched a pillow. Grace's pillow.
Even beaten to death, in her final moments, Mandy had used her body to shield it, believing it was her daughter.
I couldn't take it anymore. I ran to the doorway and dry heaved.
How could this happen? How could Mandy be dead? She was as stubborn as wild grass. No matter how much I yelled at her, she never left. How could she die like this?
"Dad?" Grace was startled by my reaction.
She couldn't understand why I was throwing up or why her mom suddenly seemed so frightening.
In her little world, her mom was sleeping, maybe with a bit of dirt on her face.
Grace climbed off the bed and ran to me. She reached out with her dirty hand and patted my back. "Dad, don't cry. The pain will fly away."
I froze, my whole body turning to stone.
"The pain will fly away." That was what Mandy used to say when I drank too much and ended up with a stomachache. She always nursed me back to health.
Now, hearing it from Grace, it felt like my heart would shatter.
"Don't touch me!" I shoved Grace's hand away as it burned.
Grace tumbled to the floor, staring at me in shock, tears pooling in her eyes, but too scared to fall. "I'm sorry. My hands are dirty." She hid her hands behind her back, her voice barely a whisper.
I leaned against the doorframe, gulping air, trying to steady myself.
This had to be a nightmare. Or maybe it was some kind of trap.
Yeah, that was it. It was definitely a trap. Did Mandy do this to herself to get back at me?
"When did your mom fall asleep?" I asked, my voice shaking.
Grace thought for a moment, then held up three fingers. "That day, the bad guy came. He wanted money, but Mom said she didn't have any. So he hit her with a stick and kicked her."
Grace started trembling; the memory clearly terrified her. "Mom told me to hide in the closet and not come out, not make a sound. So I did.
"After the bad guy left, Mom crawled onto the bed and said she was tired, that she needed to take a nap. She said you would come save us.
"Dad, why did you take so long to get here?"
Her innocent question filled me with shame. I wanted to vanish.
How could I answer? Because I was with another woman, helping her pick out wedding dresses. Because I thought this was another of your mother's schemes for cash. Because, deep down, I'd been hoping you would both disappear.
Suddenly, Chloe's voice echoed from the hallway, her high heels clicking sharply on the wooden floor. "Dylan, are you in there?"
My heart skipped a beat. Why was she here? Panic flooded through me.
"Don't come in!" I shouted, lunging for the door.
But it was too late. Chloe was already standing in the doorway.
She pinched her nose and looked around with pure disgust. "Oh my god, what kind of dump is this? Dylan, your ex-wife actually lives in a place like..."
Her voice cut off abruptly. She'd seen it all: the body on the bed and the dirty child on the floor.