Chapter 5 - The Threshold
It took twenty minutes to coax Emiliano out from beneath the coffee table. I didn't let anyone else touch him. I knelt on the cold floor, ignoring the dirt and the spilled crumbs, and pulled off my expensive designer jacket, wrapping it around my shoulders so I looked less like an corporate executive and more like a safe harbor.
"Emiliano," I whispered, tears finally breaking free and tracking hot paths down my cheeks. "It's Mommy, baby. You don't have to be scared anymore. I have your red sneakers. Remember? The ones you wanted."
At the mention of the shoes, his little head tilted upward. His big, dark eyes—eyes that were a mirror of my own—blinked slowly. He looked at the small red sneakers sitting on the marble floor, then back at my face. A tiny, microscopic fraction of recognition seemed to spark behind his gaze.
He let out a ragged breath, dropped his plastic ball, and crawled forward.
When his small, fragile hands finally touched my knees, I thought my heart would stop beating altogether. I scooped him up into my arms, pressing his matted hair against my shoulder, burying my face in his neck. He smelled stale, like old milk and dust, but as my arms locked around him, he let out a long, shuddering sigh and buried his face deep into my collarbone. He didn't cry. He just held onto my shirt with a grip so fierce it felt like he was anchoring himself to life itself.
Teresa scoffed behind us, muttering something venomous about ungrateful children, but Officer Vance cut her off with a sharp gesture toward the door.
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"Move along, ma'am. Pack whatever you need for the station. You're all coming with us for initial statements."
As I carried Emiliano out of that bright, sterile house and into the cool night air, the flashing blue lights illuminated the path ahead. The suitcase of toys sat heavily in my other hand, but my son was in my arms, and for the first time in two agonizing years, the darkness finally began to lift.
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