I stay where I am, listening as she pulls back the covers and slides into bed. When I finally join her, she’s still awake, turned away from me. I wait until her breathing evens out, then gently pull her against my chest.
I press a kiss to her hair and whisper, “I promise tomorrow I’ll put a smile on your face… and the kids’ too.”
On the way to the office, an idea struck me: Smorgasburg in Prospect Park.
The kids used to love it there. Ethan would refuse to leave without sampling at least ten different things, Alicia thrived on anything that involved open space and nature, and Ceci enjoyed anything we did together as a family.
It would have been perfect.
I’d meant to text Ceci—to tell her to wait for me at home, that I’d be there before two with a surprise for the kids—but traffic slowed me down. By the time I reached the office, my attention had already shifted to one goal, finishing early so I could spend the afternoon with my family.
If I’d sent that text, she wouldn’t have taken the kids to the Hamptons.
But how could I have known?
Ceci never acts like this. She plans our trips meticulously. She keeps me informed, even when I can’t go.
I read her text again, and only then do I register what isn’t there. No good morning. NoI love you.
Even when I’m frustrated, even angry, I always tell her how I feel.
I call her. No answer.
I try again. Still nothing.
A third time, straight to voicemail.
I check the time stamp. 8:11 a.m.
Maybe she sent it from home. Maybe they were still on the road. But she didn’t call—she texted. My phone is always on silent during work hours, but she could’ve called the office. I would have picked up.
There’s no use dwelling on it now. I set my phone on the desk and force myself to focus.
Two hours pass. Then more.
Nothing.
Unease settles in my chest. I pull up the Hamptons house number and call. No answer.
My pulse spikes at the thought. Something could have happened.
No. That’s irrational.
I try Ceci’s phone again. Then Ethan’s. Then the house once more.
On the second attempt, Abigail answers on the third ring.
“Abigail,” I say, cutting straight through her greeting. “Has Ceci arrived with the kids?”
“Oh! Mr. Colin—yes,” she replies brightly. “They arrived a few hours ago. I helped Cecily put together a picnic basket, and they went down to the sea for the day.”
Relief crashes through me, but it’s short-lived. I’ve been spiraling over nothing. They’re fine. At the beach. Having a picnic.
I inhale slowly. “Did she take her phone with her?”
“No, sir. She asked me to put it on the charger when they arrived. Would you like me to bring it to her?”
“No,” I say curtly. “Just ask Ceci to call me as soon as they’re back. Thank you, Abigail.”
