Chapter 5
The sign at the kindergarten entrance was clear: Sunnydale Kindergarten.
Taylor held the boy, his hand supporting the child's back.
It wasn't a polite, distant hold.
It was the kind of hold one only got after doing it a hundred times, knowing exactly how the kid would lean and how to make them feel safe.
The boy looked up at him, his eyes bright.
When I saw those eyes, my stomach twisted.
They looked just like Taylor's, and just like Isobel's.
I saved the photo three times and saved the unknown number.
I called back, but all I got was a cold, automated message.
The phone was off.
I stood there for a long time before finally getting a cab home.
When I reached the entrance to my apartment complex, I let the wind dry my tears.
I couldn't let my eyes show any redness.
I couldn't let my voice shake.
When I opened the door, Taylor was sitting in the living room, scrolling through his phone.
Isobel was already asleep.
He looked up at me.
"Where did you go?" he asked.
I kicked off my shoes.
"I went downstairs to buy some fever patches," I said.
He noticed my hands were empty. "Didn't get any?"
"The pharmacy was closed."
The lie slipped out so quietly that even I could tell it was a weak excuse.
But Taylor didn't press me.
He went back to his phone.
At that moment, it hit me.
If someone was hiding a bigger secret in their heart, they wouldn't sweat the small lies others tell.
I went into the bedroom and closed the door.
Isobel was asleep in her crib, her little mouth slightly open.
Her hands were curled into tiny fists, as if holding onto a peaceful dream.
I sat beside Isobel, unable to stop myself from staring at that photo one more time.
It was five years ago outside the delivery room.
He signed the papers.
Those words were like nails, each one hammered into my mind.
Five years ago, I wasn't married to Taylor yet.
But we were already together.
I remembered it all too well.
That fall, we'd met each other's parents.
My mom asked him when he was going to make things official.
Taylor held my hand and said he wouldn't keep me waiting long.
When he said that, his eyes were so sincere that I really believed him, for years.
I pulled up the calendar backup on my old phone. October 21st, five years ago.
That day, I was supposed to try on wedding dresses at the bridal shop.
Then, at the last minute, Taylor called and said there was an emergency at work; he had to leave town.
I slumped alone on the bridal shop's couch, downing two glasses of lemonade that had gone flat and cold.
The clerk glanced at me and asked, "When will your husband be here?"
I forced a smile and replied, "He's busy."
At ten that night, he called me.
He said the reception was terrible, and he sounded really tired.
I couldn't help but feel bad for him, so I told him not to overwork himself.
Thinking back now, I remembered his breathing was so heavy that night, like he'd escaped from some disaster.
I stared at that date, my palms growing sweaty.
What if he really was waiting outside the delivery room that day?
What if it was another woman having his baby that day?
So what was the point of everything I had been through all these years?
Footsteps sounded outside the door.
Taylor came in.
I quickly hid my phone under the blanket.
He glanced at Isobel, then at me.
"Still feeling sick?" he asked.
"I'm much better," I replied.
He walked over and leaned down, placing his hand gently on my forehead.
I stayed still, letting him.
As his palm settled against my skin, my nose prickled.
Just yesterday, this same hand had held that kid.
And it had held Isobel, too.
All of a sudden, I couldn't tell which moments were real, and which ones were just an act.
Taylor said, "I'll be back early tomorrow."
I asked, "Aren't you supposed to have that dinner on Friday?"
He paused.
"Yeah, Friday might not work," he said.
"Never mind, then," I said.
I tugged the blanket up around me. "Go ahead, do your thing."
He stood there for a moment, like he wanted to say something.
But in the end, he reached over and switched off the bedside lamp.
And the darkness settled in around us.
I lay awake, staring at his back.
At two in the morning, his phone buzzed again.
This time, he was dead asleep.
The screen lit up on the nightstand, its glow spilling out through the cracks.
I held my breath, slowly reaching out to grab his phone.
On the lock screen, there was just one message preview.
It was from Willow.
Freddie's coughing badly tonight. He keeps asking if you'll pick him up on Friday.
The next morning, I made sure not to bring up Willow's message about Freddie.
By the time Taylor got up, I was already in the kitchen, making oatmeal.
Willow showed up early.
When she walked in and saw me at the stove, her face registered surprise for a moment.
"Mrs. Francis, why are you up and about when you're still not feeling well?" Willow asked.
I turned down the heat.
"Couldn't sleep," I said.
She took the spoon from me.
"Let me handle it," she said.
I let go, my eyes drifting to her apron pocket.