Chapter 1 - THE SEVENTH PLACE
Six days after I gave birth, my husband took my car, left me alone with our newborn, and went to a family dinner where nobody had set a place for me.
Then his mother texted:
“He deserves one peaceful evening away from you.”
By midnight, Roland was outside my father’s gates, calling so hard my phone felt hot in my hand.
By then, I had opened the envelope.
And dinner was the least of our problems.
That evening, I had been standing at the kitchen island with Wren asleep against my chest, trying to heat soup without waking her.
My hospital bracelet was still on my wrist.
Roland came downstairs wearing his navy dinner jacket.
“Faye’s having everyone over. Mom leaves for Savannah tomorrow.”
“What time are we leaving?”
He stopped checking his reflection in the microwave.
“It would probably be easier if you stayed home.”
I waited for him to smile.
He picked up my keys.
“The drive is a lot for Wren. The house will be crowded. You need rest.”
“You’re taking my car?”
“My SUV’s still in the shop.”
“The diaper bag’s in there. So is the car seat.”
“I’ll bring everything back.”
“What if we need something?”
He sighed like I had asked him to carry a piano upstairs.
“Simone. It’s one dinner. Please don’t turn this into something.”
Then he left.
I stood there until the soup bubbled over.
His mother’s message arrived three minutes later.
I read it twice.
Then a photo appeared in the family group chat. Roland sat beside his mother, Celeste, beneath Faye’s warm pendant lights.
Seven plates.
Seven folded napkins.
No empty chair.
I carried Wren upstairs and packed diapers, formula, clean pajamas, and her yellow hospital blanket.
Then I called my father.
“Dad, come get me.”
“Is Wren safe?”
“Yes.”
“Are you safe?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll send Raymond.”
Thirty minutes later, a black Cadillac Escalade pulled into the driveway.
Raymond handed me a cream envelope while he unpacked a second infant seat.
“Your father asked me to give you this.”
I left a note beneath my house key.
Wren and I are safe. We’re staying with my family. When you’re ready to explain why your mother is family but your wife and daughter are not, call me.
Roland called before we reached Peachtree Road.
“Who is that man carrying your bag?”
“My father’s driver.”
“Your father has a driver?”
I looked at our sleeping daughter.
“Good night, Roland.”
Then I opened the envelope.
May you like
My father’s first sentence stopped my breathing.
Simone, I did not agree to give your husband any money.
