After My Husband Beat Me, I Fled With Our Daughters

The table was set perfectly. I checked it three times. White linen napkins folded into triangles. The good china with the gold rim. Candles that smelled like vanilla. I kept adjusting the forks even though they were already straight.

Dad sat at the head of the table. He looked smaller than he did this morning. His hand kept pressing against his chest like he was trying to hold something inside. The bankruptcy papers had been filed at two o'clock. By three, the news was everywhere. By four, his phone stopped ringing.

"You didn't have to cook, Bella," he said quietly. He only called me Bella when he was sad.

I smiled. "It's Sunday. We always have Sunday dinner."

He didn't argue. We both knew I needed something to do with my hands.

The girls were upstairs. I heard Madison laughing at something on her tablet. Amelie was reading to Eva. Nylah was probably drawing. Normal sounds. I wanted to keep them normal as long as I could.

Marcos was late. He was always late now. I texted him twice. No answer.

I poured Dad a glass of water. His hand shook when he took it.

"I'm sorry," he said.

"Don't."

"I should have protected you better. Should have seen it coming. Should have—"

"Dad. Please."

He stopped talking. But the look on his face didn't change.

The front door opened at six forty-five. I heard Marcos's voice in the hallway. Then I heard another voice. A woman's voice. Light and sweet.

I walked to the dining room entrance.

Marcos came in first. He wore the gray suit I bought him last Christmas. Behind him was Ashlyn Salazar. His secretary. She wore a soft pink dress that clung to her stomach. She was pregnant. Very pregnant.

My brain went blank.

Marcos pulled out a chair for her. Right next to his usual seat. He sat down like this was normal. Like he brought his pregnant mistress to family dinners all the time.

Dad stood up slowly. "Marcos. What is this?"

Marcos adjusted his cufflinks. He always did that before he said something terrible. I knew that tell. I'd learned it over eight years.

"This is Ashlyn," he said. His voice was calm. Reasonable. "She's carrying my son."

The words didn't make sense at first. Then they did. Then I wished they didn't.

"Your son," I repeated.

He looked at me. His eyes were cold. "The son you couldn't give me. The son I've wanted for eight years."

Ashlyn touched her stomach. Her face was soft. Sad. Like she felt sorry for me.

"I lost a baby last year," she said quietly. "Because of Sienna."

I blinked. "What?"

"You were cruel to me," Ashlyn continued. Her voice broke just a little. Just enough. "At the office. You made me so upset that I miscarried. I was twelve weeks along."

I stared at her. "I've never been cruel to you. I barely know you."

"You did," Marcos said. He wasn't looking at me anymore. He was looking at Dad. "She did. And now she's going to make it right."

Dad's face went red. "You bring this woman into my home—"

"Your home?" Marcos laughed. It wasn't a nice sound. "You filed for bankruptcy this morning, Warren. You don't have a home. You don't have anything."

Dad sat down hard. Like his legs stopped working.

Marcos leaned forward. "Here's what's going to happen. Sienna is going to apologize to Ashlyn. She's going to kneel. And then she's going to sign divorce papers. Clean break. No assets. No custody. Nothing."

My heart was pounding so hard I could hear it in my ears. "You can't take my daughters."

"I can." He pulled a folder from his briefcase. "I have lawyers. You have nothing. Your father has nothing. If you fight me, I'll destroy what's left of him. And I'll make sure you never see Amelie, Madison, Nylah, or Eva again."

I looked at Dad. His hand was pressed over his chest again. His face was gray.

I looked at the staircase. Amelie was sitting halfway up. She was holding Eva. Her face was white. She'd heard everything.

"Sienna." Marcos's voice was sharp now. "Kneel."

I thought about fighting. I thought about screaming. I thought about running upstairs and locking all of us in Amelie's room and never coming out.

But Amelie was watching. And Dad looked like he might collapse. And Marcos had lawyers and money and rage.

I knelt.

The floor was cold against my knees. I looked at Ashlyn's shoes. Pink heels. Expensive.

"I'm sorry," I whispered.

Ashlyn smiled. She reached out and touched my hair. Like I was a dog. "I forgive you."

Marcos slid the papers across the table. "Sign."

I signed. Every page. My hand didn't shake. I didn't let it.

When I finished, Marcos stood up. He helped Ashlyn to her feet. "We're done here," he said.

They left.

I stayed on my knees. I couldn't move. I heard Amelie crying upstairs. I heard Dad's breathing, ragged and awful.

I stayed there until the candles burned out.