Chapter 3 - Shadows of the Past
Up in room 412, Elsie was sleeping under a mountain of warm blankets, the steady beep of the heart monitor filling the quiet room with a mechanical rhythm that kept my panic anchored just below the surface.
Micah was curled up in the armchair beside her bed, wrapped in a hospital-issued blanket, finally asleep after eating a turkey sandwich and drinking two whole cartons of apple juice. His breathing was deep and even, though his hand remained tightly clutching the hem of my shirt even in slumber.
I sat in the straight-backed chair across from them, staring out the window at the distant neon lights of Nashville glowing against the darkening evening sky.
My mind raced backward, tearing through the last eight months of our divorce settlement like a tornado through a quiet neighborhood.
When Delaney and I split up, it hadn't been explosive. There were no grand fights, no screaming matches in the driveway. Just a slow, mutual erosion of warmth until we looked at each other across the kitchen island one Tuesday evening and realized we were two strangers sharing a mortgage. She wanted freedom; she wanted to travel for her art; she wanted a life unburdened by domestic routine. I wanted stability for the kids, a predictable schedule, a home filled with laughter rather than polite silence.
The custody agreement gave her fifty percent legal custody and alternating weeks. For eight months, it had run smoothly on the surface. Sure, she was occasionally late dropping them off on Sunday evenings, offering vague excuses about traffic or deadlines. Sure, Micah sometimes looked a little thinner when he came back, but I always chalked it up to picky eating—kids are notoriously difficult with food changes.
I had trusted her because she was their mother.
I was an idiot, I told myself, the self-loathing burning hot in my chest. A complete, arrogant idiot who was too busy closing logistics contracts to look closely at my own children.
My phone buzzed on the small bedside table.
It was a text from my lawyer, Marcus Vance. Heard about the hospital from a contact in pediatrics. Rowan, call me the second you get this. This changes everything.
I slipped out of the room into the quiet hallway, stepping into a recessed alcove near the nurses' station before dialing his number. He answered on the first ring.
"Rowan," Marcus said without preamble. "Are the kids okay?"
"Elsie's stable, but she's recovering from severe dehydration and malnutrition. Micah is traumatized. Marcus, where the hell is Delaney?"
"I don't know yet, but I've already filed an emergency motion for sole temporary custody based on medical neglect and abandonment," Marcus said, his voice clipped and efficient. "More importantly, Rowan... I ran a preliminary background check on that East Nashville rental house an hour ago when your pediatrician's office called my firm. Delaney hasn't paid rent on that place in three months. The landlord filed an eviction notice three weeks ago."
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"Three weeks?" I gripped the edge of the window ledge so hard my knuckles turned white. "Then where have they been staying? If they weren't in that house, where were my kids living?"
"That's what we need to find out," Marcus said grimly. "Because according to public records, Delaney rented a storage unit off Interstate 40 four months ago. And she hasn't logged into her freelance design portal since early last month."
