He shuffled in, still holding the plastic dinosaur he’d been dragging around all morning.
His eyes flicked to the drawer and then back to me, quick as a blink.
“Sweetheart, do you know where the forks went?”
He shook his head hard.
“Are you sure? Because Mommy just bought a whole bunch, and now most of them are gone.”
“I don’t know, Mommy.”
“You can tell me if you were playing with them. I won’t be mad.”
He pressed his lips together and shook his head again. His fingers gripped the dinosaur hard enough to turn his knuckles pale.
I let him go.
I called Brandon on his lunch break. He picked up on the fourth ring, sounding distracted, like I’d caught him mid-thought.
“Hey, everything okay?”
“The forks are gone again.”
“The what?”
“The forks, Brandon. I bought 48 new ones, and there are seven left. Seven.”
He laughed.
“Cece, come on. He’s five. Kids do weird things. Remember when he tried to flush his socks?”
“This is different. He’s hiding them somewhere, and he’s lying about it. He’s never lied to me before.”
“He’s not lying. He’s playing.”
“Then why does he look terrified every time I open a drawer?”
There was a pause.
A very small one, but I caught it.
“Babe, you sound stressed. Have you eaten today? Take a nap while he’s watching cartoons. It’s forks. We’ll figure it out.”
“Don’t tell me I’m stressed.”
“I’m not saying you’re stressed in a bad way. I’m just saying, don’t spiral over silverware.”
I hung up before I said something I’d regret.
That night, I watched him tuck Alex in. He stayed longer than usual. I heard the low murmur of his voice through the door, then a small giggle, then quiet.
When Brandon came out, he was smiling.
“He’s out cold.”
“What were you two talking about?”
“Nothing. Boy stuff.”
I searched his face. He kissed my forehead and headed to the shower like nothing in the world was wrong.
The next morning, he announced the trip.
“Warehouse thing. Two days. They’re paying overtime rates just to show up.”
“Since when do you travel for work?”
“Since they asked. It’s good money, Cece. I couldn’t say no.”
He packed a duffel bag while I stood in the doorway, arms crossed, watching him fold shirts I’d washed a 100 times. Something about the way he wouldn’t quite look at me made my chest tighten.
“Brandon?”
“Yeah?”
“Is everything okay with us?”
He stopped folding. For a second I thought he might sit down on the bed and finally say something real. Then he smiled, that same easy smile, and pulled me into a hug.
“Everything’s fine, baby. I promise.”
He was gone by noon.
That evening, I made grilled cheese and cut it into triangles the way Alex liked.
He ate half and asked to go to bed early.
That should have been my first clue.
He never asked to go to bed early.
I carried his book in and sat down on the edge of the mattress beside him.
Something was wrong with the bed.
The surface felt bumpy. Not soft, not lumpy like an old mattress, but ridged, like someone had laid a row of pencils under the sheet.
“Alex, honey, sit up for a second.”
“Why?”
“Just for a minute. Mommy needs to check something.”
“No, Mommy, please don’t.”
“Baby, why not?”
His eyes were already filling up. He clutched at my sleeve.
“Please. Please don’t look.”
I lifted him gently and set him on the floor. Then, I peeled back the fitted sheet and raised the mattress.
They were arranged in perfect rows.
Dozens and dozens of them, more than I could count at a glance.
Silver tines pointing the same direction, handles lined up like little soldiers waiting for orders, laid out with a kind of care that made my throat close.
Alex burst into tears behind me.
“Please don’t take them away, Mommy. Please.”
“Baby, calm down. Why shouldn’t I take them away?”
“I need them. Me and Daddy need them.”
I turned around slowly.
