Chapter 2

The operating room light flicked off.

The sound was so small, but it echoed in the silent hallway like a gunshot.

A doctor came out, his face grim, his shoulders slumped. He pulled off his surgical mask, and his eyes were full of a tired pity I never wanted to see.

"We did everything we could," he said. The words were quiet, clinical. "We're so sorry. We just... we couldn't save him."

My legs gave out.

I didn' t fall. It was more like my body just folded in on itself. I sank to my knees on the cold, sterile floor. A sound came out of my throat, a ragged, inhuman noise.

Mary, Mark' s mother, rushed to my side, trying to pull me up, but I was a dead weight. The world had dissolved into a roaring in my ears.

"What happened?" I finally managed to choke out, the words tearing at my throat. "How did this happen?"

It was a young police officer standing nearby who answered. He looked uncomfortable, his gaze fixed on a spot on the wall just above my head.

"Ma'am, your son... he was found locked in a server room at your husband's office building."

Server room? I didn't understand.

"The cleaning crew found him late last night," the officer continued, his voice low. "The room is soundproofed. The temperature inside... with the servers running, it gets extremely hot. The coroner's preliminary report says the cause of death was severe heat stroke."

Mary gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. "No. Oh, God, no."

The officer looked at her, then back at me. His expression hardened slightly. "According to a witness, your husband's assistant, a Ms. Chloe Davis, was complaining earlier in the day. Your son had apparently spilled something on her. She was angry. Your husband... he told your son he needed to be taught a lesson."

My mind reeled, trying to connect the pieces. The handbag. You need to learn a lesson. It wasn't a closet. It was a server room. A hot, suffocating box.

"He locked him in there?" I whispered. The idea was monstrous, unthinkable.

"That's what it looks like, ma'am," the officer said gently. "And then... your husband and Ms. Davis left the office. They went on a business trip. An impromptu trip to Napa."

My brain just stopped working. It couldn't process the information. Mark locked our son in a hot room and then just... left? With her?

I started to shake, a violent, uncontrollable tremor that wracked my entire body. My vision swam. The faces around me blurred. The roaring in my ears grew louder until it was all I could hear.

I felt Mary's arms around me, heard her crying, but it was all distant, like it was happening to someone else.

I fumbled for my phone. My fingers were clumsy, numb. I had to hear it from him. I had to hear him deny this insane, horrific story.

I found his contact. My thumb hovered over the call button.

Mary saw what I was doing. "Sarah, don't," she pleaded. "Not now."

I ignored her. I pressed the button.

It rang once. Twice.

"What?" Mark's voice was annoyed, impatient. He sounded like I was bothering him.

"Mark," I said, my voice a broken rasp. "Where are you?"

"I'm busy, Sarah. What is it?" I could hear music in the background. Laughter. Clinking glasses.

"Ethan... Mark, Ethan is dead."

There was a pause. Not a shocked silence. Just a pause.

"What are you talking about?" he said, his tone dismissive. "Don't be dramatic. What did he break now?"

The cruelty of it stole my breath. "He's dead, Mark! The hospital called. He... he died."

"Oh," was all he said. Just, "Oh."

Then I heard her voice in the background, a syrupy, sweet sound that made my stomach turn.

"Mark, honey, who is it? Come back to bed."

My blood ran cold.

"Are you with her?" I asked, my voice dangerously quiet.

"Look, Sarah, this isn't a good time," he said, his irritation growing. "I'll deal with whatever this is when I get back."

"Deal with it?" I shrieked, the sound echoing in the hospital corridor. "Our son is dead! He died in your office! They said you locked him in a room!"

Another voice came on the line. It was Chloe.

"Listen, you need to calm down," she said, her voice dripping with condescension. "Mark is very stressed. We're in the middle of a very important meeting. He can't be distracted by your hysterics."

I couldn't speak. I was choking on my own rage and grief.

Then I heard her whisper to him, not bothering to cover the phone. "Just hang up on her, baby. She's crazy. We can deal with her later. Block her number for now so she doesn't ruin our trip."

I heard Mark murmur something back, something soft and affectionate.

Then the line went dead.

He had hung up.

He had blocked me.

Our son was dead, and he had blocked my number to avoid ruining his trip with his mistress.

The phone slipped from my hand and clattered onto the floor. The last bit of strength left my body, and the world went black.