Chapter 5 - The Locked Drawer
As the officers stood guard in the hallway while Carmen frantically threw clothes into two massive suitcases, the apartment finally fell into a profound, healing silence.
I sat on the couch next to Olivia, carefully inspecting her hands. The redness was still angry and raw, and tiny water blisters had formed across her sensitive fingertips. I felt sick to my stomach just looking at them.
"Does it hurt very much, sweetie?" I asked, my voice choked with emotion as I gently stroked her hair.
Olivia shook her head slightly, leaning her head against my shoulder. "It hurts, Daddy. But I was trying to be brave so Mommy wouldn't cry anymore."
I looked across the coffee table at Jessica. She was sitting in the armchair, staring blankly at her own bandaged wrists, tears streaming silently down her face. I stood up, walked over, and pulled her into my arms. She buried her face in my chest, sobbing uncontrollably as a year's worth of built-up terror, exhaustion, and trauma finally poured out of her.
"I'm so sorry, Jess," I whispered into her hair, holding her tight. "I was blind. I was so caught up in work, I let her destroy us right under my nose."
"It's over, Zayden," Jessica sobbed softly. "She... she had us trapped."
Just then, Olivia looked up from the sofa, her eyes wide as she stared across the room toward the hallway leading to the guest bedroom where Carmen was packing.
"Daddy," Olivia whispered, lowering her voice as if Carmen might still hear her from down the hall. "When Grandma was packing her big brown suitcase earlier... she dropped her keys."
I looked down at my daughter. "Her keys, sweetie?"
"Yes," Olivia nodded, pointing a tiny finger toward the heavy oak side table near the hallway. "The little brass ones. She always keeps them on her belt, but she dropped them behind the table. And Daddy... she always told Mommy and me that if we ever touched the bottom drawer of her bedside table, she would call the police and put us in jail."
My eyebrows drew together. A bedside table drawer? Locked?
For a woman who claimed she had nothing to hide and was just 'helping out,' keeping a locked drawer in our guest room was a massive red flag.
Just as the thought crossed my mind, the two police officers walked back into the living room, escorting Carmen behind them. She was dragging two heavy suitcases, her face twisted into a mask of pure hatred and malice.
"I hope you're happy, Zayden!" Carmen spat, pausing at the front door before the officers led her out to her taxi. "You're throwing your own mother out into the cold streets for a stranger! You'll regret this! You'll all regret this!"
"Goodbye, Mom," I said calmly, holding the door wide open.
As the officers stepped outside with her, the male officer paused and handed me a small card. "Mr. Ferris, here is my direct extension. Call us if she attempts to return before the formal restraining order is filed tomorrow morning. Good luck."
The door clicked shut.
The apartment was finally empty of my mother. But as I stared down the hallway toward the guest bedroom, I remembered Olivia’s words about the locked drawer.
May you like
"Jess, wait here," I murmured, walking over to the side table by the hallway. I knelt down, reached behind the heavy wood, and my fingers brushed against a small, cold metal ring holding three old-fashioned brass keys.
I picked them up, stood slowly, and walked down the hall toward the guest room.
