Chapter Three
1282 Words
Cincinnati, Ohio - Present Day
Isla's Pov
I checked the rearview mirror for the third time in as many blocks, no one was following me. But five years of looking over your shoulder builds habits that don't die easily.
"Mommy, you missed the turn."
I glanced at the car seat where Theo sat clutching his stuffed T-rex, frowning at me with dark eyes that looked nothing like mine and everything like his father's.
"Sorry, baby. Mommy's a bit distracted."
"You're always distracted on Fridays." He said it matter of factly, the way sharp mouthed four-year-olds do when they've noticed a pattern.
And he was right. Fridays were always hard. Five years ago, I'd fled New York on a Friday. Every week since, I'd spent Friday evenings checking and rechecking my tracks, making sure we were still invisible.
I'd been distracted for five years. Ever since I'd fled New York with nothing but cash and terror.
I'd crossed into Canada to have Theo in a birthing center that didn't ask questions. Paid out of pocket, used my mother's maiden name—Riley—and listed the father as unknown on the birth certificate.
Then I'd rebuilt my entire life from scratch.
For the first two years, Theo and I lived in a studio apartment in Cincinnati's cheapest neighborhood. I worked under the table, waitressing, cleaning houses and building websites for small businesses who paid in cash.
I evolved from a daddy's girl to a hustler. I had to.
When Theo turned two, I risked going legitimate. I took the GRE using my mother's name, applied for financial aid and enrolled in night classes for my MBA while Theo slept. And I spent a better part of everyday trying not to think about the life I'd left behind.
A professor noticed my work, a case study on publishing company valuations that I'd written without thinking about the irony and connected me with a boutique consulting firm. They didn't do extensive background checks. They were impressed that I was smart and took advantage of the fact that I was hungry, and could make their clients money.
By the time Theo was four, I'd clawed my way to junior partner and built something real. For the first time, I had something that belonged to me, not my father's legacy or Damien's money.
Theo became the reason I got up in the morning and the center of a life I'd constructed from nothing.
And I'd been so careful, stayed away from social media,paid cash when I could and used prepaid cards when I couldn't. I told people my ex was dead because it was easier than explaining the truth.
And for five years, it had worked perfectly.
But now, my small consulting firm had landed a different kind of client. A tech startup preparing to go public. And this deal would make me a full partner and give me the validation that I'd actually built something real from the wreckage.
But there was just one problem.
The deal required my presence in New York for three months.
I pulled into the parking lot of Theo's preschool and sat there for a moment, gripping the steering wheel.
Three months whole months. Well it wasn't that long if I didn't overthink it. I could be careful for three months, use my mother's name on all the paperwork like always and keep a low profile. If I stay in Brooklyn, far from Manhattan and anyone who might recognize me, everything would be fine.
"Mommy, we're gonna be late." Theo's voice pulled me out of my spiral.
Right. Four-year-olds didn't care about existential crises. They cared about show-and-tell and whether they'd get the good dinosaur puzzle before someone else claimed it.
I unbuckled him from his car seat and walked Theo to his classroom, kissed the top of his head, and watched him run off without looking back.
At least I'd raised him to feel secure, even in a life built on lies.. His teacher, Mrs. Grace, smiled as Theo joined his friends.
"Long week?" she asked, noting my expression.
"Yeah… it's work. We might be traveling."
"Well, Theo's doing great. He's really coming out of his shell." She lowered her voice. "He asked me yesterday if everyone has a daddy."
My stomach dropped. "What did you tell him?"
"I said yes, everyone has a father, but not everyone lives with both parents. I hope that was okay."
"It's fine. Thank you."
I walked back to my car and sat there for a moment, trying to breathe through the panic.
Theo was starting to ask questions. About his father, about why we didn't have family like his friend Tamara and if I also didn't have a daddy.
And I'd been avoiding those questions because I didn't know how to answer them without lying but sooner or later, I would have to.
My phone buzzed with a text from my business partner:
The client has confirmed and your logistics have been arranged. You need to be in NY by Monday.
“Oh my God, this is really happening.” I breathed. It's friday so I literally had just three days to convince myself this wasn't a mistake.
I spent those three days tying up loose ends in Cincinnati. I sublet my apartment to a grad student, packed two suitcases with enough clothes for three months, and made Theo a social story about our temporary adventure in New York. But I made sure I didn't mention his father. I had never mentioned his father..
But on Sunday night, after I'd tucked Theo into bed, I did something I hadn't done in five years.
I googled Damien Cross.
My screen instantly filled with images. Damien at charity galas, Damien closing business deals, Damien looking older and harder and nothing like the man who'd held me in the dark and promised me things he'd never delivered.
Damien. My Damien.
Except he'd never been mine. Not really.
He was still single, according to the tabloids. There was no record of a girlfriend they could find. Just an empire that had doubled in the five years since he'd destroyed mine.
Morgan Publishing, my father's company that he had bought for peanuts was now the crown jewel of Cross Media Holdings. Worth billions.
And my father was still in prison. He got a fifteen-year sentence that was eigible for parole in eight.
I'd sent him one letter, two years ago. I was at my breaking point, feeling alone and tired and decided to write the only family I had. I told him he had a grandson and even asked if he wanted to meet him but he never wrote back.
Slowly, I closed the browser before I could do something stupid like cry.
Then I went to bed and tried to convince myself that three months in New York wouldn't change anything. I would walk back into that city, do my job, and leave without anyone noticing I'd been there.
But deep down, I knew I was lying to myself.
……………
Monday morning, Theo and I boarded our fflight to New York.
Theo pressed his face to the window during takeoff, narrating everything he saw to Rexy in a stream-of-consciousness that made other passengers smile.
"Look, Rexy! The buildings are getting smaller! We're flying! Do you think there are dinosaurs in New York? Probably not real ones. But maybe museum ones.”
He turned to me. “Mommy, can we go to the museum?"
"We'll see, baby."
I held his hand and told myself and wondered how I would stay invincible with all of Theo's demands. But I was confident I could manage it.
But I was wrong.
- Writer
