Chapter 2 - The Route 1 Motel and a Midnight Warning
At 10:17 p.m., I pulled my car into the parking lot of a tired, faded highway motel off Route 1. The neon sign buzzed rhythmically against the damp night sky. The carpet inside room 114 was a violent shade of ugly mustard-yellow, the television remote was held together by thick gray duct tape, and the air smelled faintly of bleach and old dust.
And for the first time in six years, I stood in the center of the room and started laughing.
It wasn't a hysterical laugh. It was a laugh born of pure, unadulterated liberation. For once in my adult life, nobody needed anything from me. There were no blood pressure cuffs to check, no critical patients coding, no demanding husband expecting a pristine dinner, and no scheming mistress mocking my existence under my own roof.
I was alone, I was safe, and I was entirely free.
Then, the silence of the room was shattered by a sharp, vibrating buzz.
My phone lit up on the nightstand.
Gareth.
Three consecutive missed calls flashed across the screen, followed immediately by a text message.
Where are you?
Another text came seconds later, dripping with irritated entitlement.
Irene, this isn’t funny. Dinner is over, and the house is a mess. Come home right now.
I stared at the glowing screen, my thumb hovering over the block button. I felt a cold surge of empowerment. He hadn’t noticed I was missing because he cared; he noticed because his domestic infrastructure had momentarily collapsed.
Before I could type a single word in response, a new notification banner popped up.
It wasn’t Gareth.
It was Bernard.
Do not tell my son where you are.
My smile vanished instantly, replaced by a cold knot of dread.
Then, his second message arrived, glowing brightly in the dark room like an incoming storm.
There’s something about Gareth and Tessa you need to know before he finds you.
May you like
My blood went completely cold in my veins.
Before I could process the words or type out a reply asking what he meant, a heavy, urgent knock echoed loudly against my motel-room door.
