Chapter 3 - The Locks Are Changed
While I completed my mandatory forty-eight-hour recovery period in the maternity ward, Clare operated as my field commander on the outside. Accompanied by my father and a certified locksmith who specialized in high-security residential deadbolts, Clare arrived at our suburban house on Maple Drive at noon. Under Rebecca’s precise guidance, every action was documented with a body camera to ensure Ethan could never claim we damaged property or stole his personal belongings.
The locksmith went to work with cold efficiency, replacing the front, back, and garage entry locks with smart digital deadbolts that required biometric thumbprint access or encrypted codes. Ethan’s parents had keys to our house—keys Diane frequently used to let herself in unannounced to inspect my pantry, critique my housekeeping, or reorganize nursery supplies she hadn't paid for. Those keys were rendered completely useless in less than forty minutes.
Next came Ethan’s belongings. With careful, almost surgical precision, Clare and my father packed his designer suits, golf clubs, luxury watches, electronic gadgets, and casual clothes into heavy-duty storage boxes. Not a single item of his was broken, discarded, or hidden. Every box was clearly labeled: Ethan’s Clothing, Ethan’s Electronics, Ethan’s Documents. They stacked them neatly inside a temperature-controlled commercial storage unit three miles down the highway. Clare paid for the first two months in full using an untraceable cashier’s check, leaving the rental agreement and the solitary unit key inside a sealed manila envelope addressed to his name.
Inside the nursery, Clare set up a baby monitor camera linked directly to my phone, pointed straight out the front window overlooking the driveway. She left Ethan’s pristine leather suitcase rack standing bare in the empty master closet. When the locksmith finished, the house was silent, clean, and entirely purged of his entitlement.
May you like
Back in the hospital room, my phone suddenly lit up with an incoming FaceTime call from Ethan. He was probably sitting at Phoenix Sky Harbor Airport, waiting for their return flight. I didn't answer. Two seconds later, a dismissive text came through: Boarding now. Landing at 6 PM. Make sure there’s milk and bread in the fridge, my mom wants to drop by and see if you’re still dilating. Don’t be dramatic if you had some cramps, the doctor said first babies take forever.
I looked over at Leo, who was sleeping peacefully in his embroidered blue blanket, completely safe. I didn't reply to the message. I simply forwarded the screenshot to Rebecca’s paralegal, took a deep breath, and whispered, "Have a safe flight, Ethan."
