…His small hand tightened around mine, sending a surge of relief that almost buckled my resolve. My son was awake, and maybe, just maybe, we had a chance.
We lay there a moment longer, listening to the oppressive silence that followed Ethan’s departure. It was a quiet filled with possibilities—none of them comforting. I focused on the rhythmic rise and fall of Caleb’s breath as the world around us held its breath, waiting for our next move.
“We need to get up slowly,” I whispered, barely daring to break the quiet. Caleb squeezed my hand in acknowledgment, his small gesture a lifeline in the swirling sea of fear.
I counted to thirty in my head, each second stretching into eternity. The fabric of the rug felt rough under my cheek, grounding me amidst the chaos. Then, ever so carefully, I lifted my head and rolled onto my side, pulling Caleb close. His eyes were wide, reflecting the fear I felt, but his nod was resolute.
We rose together, shaky and unsteady, like newborn fawns testing their legs for the first time. I scanned the room, my eyes landing first on the dining table where the remnants of our meal sat like a sinister reminder. My stomach churned at the thought of what we had narrowly escaped.
“Where should we go, Mom?” Caleb’s voice was a whisper, barely audible over the pounding of my heart.
“We need to find help,” I replied, keeping my voice low. “But first, we have to make sure it’s safe outside.”
I tiptoed to the window and peered through the edge of the curtain. The street lay empty, bathed in the orange glow of the streetlamps. Ethan’s car was gone, and with it, I hoped, the immediate danger.
“We’re going to the neighbors,” I decided, hoping Mrs. Holloway next door would be home. She was a kind woman with a nose for trouble and a heart big enough to help us sort through this mess. “Let’s go quickly and quietly.”
Caleb nodded, his small hand returning to mine, our shared warmth a bulwark against the encroaching cold of fear. We slipped out the front door, the night air snapping against our skin. My heart raced as we dashed across the lawn, each step a betrayal of our hiding place but a necessary gamble.
Mrs. Holloway answered her door almost immediately, her robe pulled tight against the chill, eyes widening in shock at the sight of us. “Good heavens, what happened?” she exclaimed, ushering us inside.
“We need to call the police,” I said, my voice stronger now that I was no longer alone. “It’s Ethan. He… he tried to poison us.”
Mrs. Holloway didn’t hesitate. As she dialed, I pulled Caleb close, my heart finally slowing its frantic pace. Relief was a fragile thing, but it was there, buoyed by the knowledge that we had survived the first part of this ordeal.
The rest would come later—the explanations, the disbelief, the unraveling of the life I thought I knew. But for now, we were safe, and that was enough to keep the terror at bay.
As the sirens wailed in the distance, growing louder, I held Caleb close and whispered, “We’re going to be okay.” And for the first time that night, I believed it.