The Divorce by Freida McFadden - 49

49

I wake up with a start.

When I handed Dominic off to Clay, it was the middle of the morning. But now the sun has dropped in the sky. How long was I sleeping? It has to have been at least six or seven hours.

God, that felt good though. Almost decadent. I don’t even feel like a zombie anymore.

I stretch as I sit up in bed, rolling my neck in a circle and then rolling it the other way. Then I creep over to Dominic’s bassinet, expecting to see him sound asleep in there, his little round belly rising and falling with each breath.

But the bassinet is empty. Well, except for the stuffed elephant.

A tingle of fear goes down my spine, but then I remember Clay taking him out for a drive. Maybe they’re still gone. Or else Clay is holding him in the living room. Either way, Dominic is safe—he’s with his father .

I open the door to the living room, and Clay is sound asleep on our sofa. I walk over to him, not bothering to be quiet this time, but he’s not holding Dominic. I don’t see Dominic anywhere.

Where is he?

My heart is slamming in my chest as I shake Clay awake, and not gently. It takes him a second, but finally, his eyes flutter open. He yawns, although I have never been more awake in my entire life.

“Where’s Dominic?” I ask him.

He stretches his arms up over his head. “Who?”

I almost punch him in the face. “Where is my baby, Clay?”

Clay looks up at me blankly. And now I can see the dazed expression on his face and his pinpoint pupils.

Shit. He’s been shooting up. After we promised we would never do that again for the sake of our son.

I could kill him.

“Where’s Dominic?” My voice has reached a hysterical pitch. “You said you took him for a drive. Where is he?”

“I…” He scratches at his hair, which is already sticking up. “He’s not here?”

“No!”

“Then…” His eyes finally widen in alarm. “Shit. I must’ve left him in the car…”

I don’t even wait for Clay to attempt to pull himself together. I shove my feet into a pair of slippers and dash out the front door, racing down the stairs so quickly, I nearly trip and break my neck.

Thankfully, I see Clay’s car parked at the end of the street. I feel like I can’t quite get enough air, and my legs are wobbly as I run down there as quickly as I can. I try to reassure myself that Dominic is probably fine. Clay might have left him in the car, but he’s surely still there. If we left money or drugs in the car, someone would definitely take it, but nobody wants a baby. And it’s not hot to the point where he could overheat or cold to the point where he could freeze. Dominic is fine .

I’m gasping for air and my head is spinning by the time I get to the car. I squint through the back window, and my stomach drops.

Dominic is not inside.

And neither is his car seat.

No. I just stare through that window, not sure what to do. Dominic isn’t in the house, and he isn’t in the car. He’s gone . And I can’t think where else he could be.

Clay is running down the street, following me to the car. He looks inside, discovers that our son isn’t there, and his face falls.

“Oh,” he says numbly.

“You shot up!” I shove him so hard in the chest, he stumbles backward. “You swore you wouldn’t, and you did it anyway! And you did it while watching our son!”

He holds up his hands. “Ronnie, baby, I’m so sorry…”

“How could you?” I choke out, pounding on his chest with my fists.

“I…I just…”

He absorbs my blows, not sure what to say, but it doesn’t matter, because his words mean nothing. I hate him right now. I would kill him with my bare hands if there were a chance it would bring Dominic back to me.

“We need to call the police,” I say.