Chapter 1 - I Got Him Alone
The first thing I saw was my six-week-old son above my mother's head.
Not cradled against her chest. Not tucked safely in the bend of her arm.
Above her head.
My mother, Diane Mercer, stood in the doorway of the guest room with both hands under Noah's tiny body, lifting him toward the ceiling while he kicked and whimpered. Her face was calm in a way that made my stomach tighten.
"What are you doing?"
She jerked so hard she nearly lost her grip.
I crossed the hallway in three steps and took Noah from her. The second he hit my chest, his whimper broke into a full cry. I supported his head with one hand and held him close with the other.
"Why was he crying?"
Diane smoothed the front of her beige cardigan. "He was fine. Babies cry. You know that."
"He wasn't fine."
"Evan, don't be dramatic."
That word landed badly. My wife, Claire, had been dead for twenty-three days. A delivery complication had taken her before she ever got to carry Noah out of the hospital. Since then, every sound he made had felt like a test I was terrified of failing.
I looked at my mother.
"Why were you holding him like that?"
"I was trying to calm him."
"By lifting him over your head?"
Her mouth tightened.
Noah's crying softened against my shirt.
Then I heard a vibration from the dresser.
Diane's phone lit up.
She moved toward it too quickly.
I got there first.
The message preview was short.
I GOT HIM ALONE. HE NEVER PUTS...
The rest disappeared beneath the notification bar.
My mother stopped breathing.
I stared at the screen, then at her.
"What did you mean by 'I got him alone'?"
For the first time in my life, my mother looked afraid of me.
Then she whispered, "Give me my phone."
Noah stirred against my chest.
I didn't move.
"Who sent this?"
Diane's eyes shifted toward the hallway behind me.
That was when I heard the front door quietly close downstairs.
Someone else had been in my house.
May you like
And from the look on my mother's face, she knew exactly who it was.
The Message on Grandma's Phone
