Chapter 9
It was a Tuesday.
I was working a double shift.
Fourteen hours.
Ryan was home with Noah.
They were making pizza for dinner.
I called at seven to check in.
Noah answered.
He was excited.
“Mom! Dad let me put extra cheese on everything! Even the crust! And we’re gonna watch Star Wars after! The whole trilogy!”
“That sounds amazing, baby. I’ll be home around midnight. Don’t wait up for me, okay?”
“Okay! I love you!”
“I love you too.”
I hung up.
Smiling.
Everything was fine.
At eleven o’clock, my phone rang.
It was Ryan.
His voice was panicked.
“Emma. You need to come home. Now.”
My stomach dropped.
“What’s wrong? Is it Noah?”
“Noah’s fine. He’s asleep. But… Mom is here. She’s in the backyard. With Buddy. And she has a knife.”
I ran.
Literally ran.
Out of the ER.
Past my supervisor.
Past the patients.
I didn’t explain.
I didn’t have time.
I drove home.
Fifteen minutes that felt like five hours.
When I pulled up, the backyard lights were on.
I could see Ryan through the kitchen window.
He was standing at the sliding door.
Phone to his ear.
I ran through the house.
Out the back door.
And I saw her.
Diane.
Standing by the new dog house.
Buddy was backed into the corner of the fence.
Growling.
But he wouldn’t attack.
He was too good.
Too gentle.
In Diane’s right hand was a kitchen knife.
The big one we used to carve the Thanksgiving turkey.
In her left hand was a leash.
“Diane!” I screamed.
She turned.
Her eyes were wild.
Her hair was messy.
She’d been drinking.
I could smell it from ten feet away.
“Emma,” she slurred. “You’re just in time. I was about to take care of this problem once and for all.”
“Put the knife down. Now.”
Ryan ran up beside me.
“Mom, please. Think about this. This isn’t you.”
She laughed.
It was a terrible sound.
High and sharp.
“This is me, Ryan! This is who I’ve always been! The woman who does what has to be done! I raised you alone! I worked until my feet bled! I gave you everything! And this is how you repay me? With this… this woman and her brat and their stupid dog?”
She waved the knife at Buddy.
He whimpered.
Noah’s bedroom window was on the second floor, overlooking the yard.
I prayed he was still asleep.
“Diane,” I said, keeping my voice as calm as I could. “Let’s talk. Just you and me. Whatever you want. Whatever you need. But put the knife down first. Please.”
“I don’t need anything from you! I need my son back! I need my life back! And this dog is the reason everything went wrong! If he’d never come here, none of this would have happened! Ryan would still be my boy! We’d still be a family!”
She took a step toward Buddy.
“NO!” I ran forward.
Ryan grabbed me.
“Emma, don’t! She has a knife!”
Diane raised the knife.
High above her head.
“Goodbye, you stupid mutt.”
And then—
“NO!”
The scream came from above.
We all looked up.
Noah was at the window.
He’d heard everything.
He was climbing out.
Onto the roof.
“NOAH!” Ryan screamed.
The second floor was only twelve feet up.
But it was concrete below.
And the roof was steep.
Noah was crying.
“Leave him alone! Leave Buddy alone!”
He started to climb down.
Slipping.
Scrabbling for purchase on the shingles.
“Noah, stop!” I screamed. “Stay there! Mommy’s coming!”
Diane looked up.
And for a split second, I saw it.
Realization.
Horror.
What she’d done.
What she’d almost done.
The knife fell from her hand.
Clattered on the patio.
She stared at the boy on the roof.
The grandson she claimed to love.
And she broke.
“Oh my God,” she whispered. “Oh my God, what have I done?”
Noah slipped.
He fell.
Three feet.
Five.
Ryan ran.
Faster than I’d ever seen him move.
He caught Noah.
Barely.
They went down together.
Ryan’s back hit the concrete.
Hard.
Noah was in his arms.
Crying.
But whole.
Alive.
I ran to them.
Fell to my knees.
“Noah! Baby! Are you okay?”
He nodded, sobbing.
“I’m okay, Mom. I’m okay.”
Ryan groaned.
His eyes were closed.
“Ryan?”
He opened them.
“Fine. Just… wind knocked out of me.”
He looked at Noah.
Brushed the hair from his face.
“You’re okay, buddy. You’re okay. I got you. Daddy always got you.”
I looked up.
Diane was still standing by the dog house.
She was staring at her hands.
The hands that had held the knife.
The hands that had almost destroyed everything.
Sirens sounded in the distance.
Ryan must have called 911 before I got home.
Diane didn’t run.
She didn’t fight.
When the police arrived, she held out her wrists.
Quietly.
Without a word.
They put her in handcuffs.
Led her to the car.
As she passed me, she stopped.
She didn’t look at me.
She looked at Noah.
Safe in his father’s arms.
“Tell him…” Her voice cracked. “Tell him I’m sorry. That I never meant for any of this. That I loved him. In my own way… I loved him.”
May you like
I said nothing.
The police led her away.
