Just like Kieren.
Mother’s guilt overwhelms me as I pull into the drop zone outside Hope High School. I remind myself that Kieren is a good boy and my love and guidance are enough.
Then why doesn’t he want me to see what’s on his screen?
Before I can ask, Kieren’s out of the car and pulling his school bag behind him.
“Hey,” I call after him. “I’m on double shift tonight. You’ll need to get the bus home. There are leftovers in the fridge. Do your homework and don’t game all night.”
He pulls out an earbud and leans back into the car. “Stop worrying so much, Mom. I’ll be fine.”
He gives me a rare smile, and my heart stutters. The boy is still in there, and he may be his father’s son, but he’s also mine. And I’m doing the best I can.
He slams the car door, and I take a long, steadying breath.
A car beeps, and I glance in the rearview mirror.
“Sorry.” I raise my hand to the driver as I pull out of the drop zone.
The traffic through town hasn’t eased, and I’m late as I pull into the Hope Medical Center staff parking lot.
I grab my purse and pull my name tag out of the pocket. I clip it to my chest as I hurry through the parking lot and into the medical center. I’m heading toward the elevators when my phone rings.
It’s the Charlotte Corrections Office, which can’t be good news. I think about letting it go to voicemail because I’m already late, but then I’ll be wondering about the call all day.
“Lauren speaking.” I sidestep the elevator and jog up the stairs to the nurses’ station so I can take the call.
“Is this Mrs. Doyle?” a male voice asks.
“I haven’t gone by that name in over ten years.” I try to keep the irritation out of my voice. “Call me Lauren.”
I hate that I’m still linked to Mark, even though we’ve been divorced for years.
“I’m sorry, Lauren. We have some news about your husband.”
“Ex-husband,” I reiterate, irritated that I’m still on file somewhere as Mark’s wife, especially after everything I’ve been through.
“Yes of course. Sorry. Your ex-husband, Mark Doyle.”
I reach the nurses’ station, and with my phone pressed to my ear, I open my locker and shove my purse in.
“What’s the news?”
“He’s been paroled early.”
My stomach drops, and I sink into a chair in the corner of the nurses’ break room.
“How? He wasn’t up for parole for another year.”
“The thing is, we have a capacity problem. We’ve had to re-examine all cases, and it’s led to the early release of some prisoners.”
I try to decipher what he’s saying. “The prison’s too full. So you’re letting criminals out.”
“Well, ah, we believe he has reformed.”
I snort. There is no way my ex has been reformed. He knows how to play nice when he needs to, and he’s managed to convince them he’s safe for release. It’s my own fault for not reporting the threats and abusive behavior. I was young and naive and worried they wouldn’t listen to a young single mom and would try to take my son from me.
It’s what Mark threatened to do last time he was out. I close my eyes, trying to block out the memory of metal scraping against metal and Kieren screaming in the back seat as Mark tried to run us off the road.
