Chapter 1 - The Weight of a Cold Pancake
The crystal chandelier overhead caught the morning light, casting pale prisms across the large wooden table. My fingers hovered over the dark smartphone lying flat beside an untouched glass of milk and a ceramic plate holding a single, cooling pancake. Across the polished walnut, my daughter sat rigidly in her pink floral dress, her blonde hair neatly wound into a tight bun.
"Dad, don't go," she whispered.
The security guards in their dark suits shifted near the double doors, their presence a silent reminder of the corporate life that claimed half my days. I leaned down, resting my palms against the edge of the table, and stroked her hair. The stubble along my jaw scraped faintly against my collar as I forced a steady breath.
"I have to catch the morning flight, sweetie. I'll be back tonight," I said, keeping my voice level, stripped of the fatigue weighing behind my eyes.
She looked up, her lower lip trembling. The vulnerability in her wide, tearful eyes pierced through the controlled atmosphere of the dining room.
"Grandma takes me to a secret place when you're gone," she said quietly.
The words hung in the warm interior air, small and sharp. My hand moved instantly, my fingers closing around the dark smartphone on the wood. I pressed the shortcut key, bringing up my assistant's direct line while keeping my gaze locked on my daughter's pale face.
"Cancel the flight, don't tell anyone," I said into the receiver before cutting the connection.
I didn't wait for an acknowledgment. I straightened, turned on my heel, and walked out past the guards without a backward glance, my cream-colored blazer brushing the doorframe. Outside, the morning air hit my face as I climbed into the black SUV idling in the drive. I pulled the door shut, shifted into drive, and stared intensely through the rearview mirror with narrowed eyes, watching the heavy front doors of the house recede.
Where are you taking my daughter?
May you like
The heavy stone gates of the estate loomed ahead, the wrought-iron bars swinging open to admit a delivery van. I tapped the gas, slipping my vehicle right behind it before the motors could swing the iron shut again. The tires crunched over the gravel as I merged onto the county road, keeping the black SUV two car lengths back, hidden behind a line of commuters.
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