Chapter 31 Lindsay
Chapter thirty-one
Lindsay
The house feels hollow. Like someone scraped out everything warm and left the structure standing.
I've been avoiding Arthur since he stopped answering me. Since the absence itself began to feel like a decision. It's easier to stay in my room, working on my costume, pretending the silence stretching between us doesn't matter.
It's Saturday, so Henry is home from school. I hear him downstairs, his voice carrying up through the quiet house. Arthur is locked in his office, buried in work as usual. The perfect excuse to maintain our careful distance.
I finally venture downstairs, drawn by hunger more than bravery. Henry sits at the kitchen counter, a half-eaten bowl of cereal pushed aside, tablet propped in front of him. His face lights up when he sees me.
"Lindsay! Look at this!" He turns the screen so I can see. "CAMICon is debuting New Age of Legends concept art for the next expansion!"
He scrolls through the convention website, pointing out panels and events with unguarded excitement. "They're doing a limited merch drop—only five hundred pieces—and there's this artist who makes custom character figurines that light up."
I lean against the counter, listening as he jumps from topic to topic. His enthusiasm is contagious.
"Jenny says she's going" he adds, trying for casual and missing by a mile. "She's dressing up as one of the characters. Not in a babyish way, in a cool way."
"Of course," I nod solemnly.
"I told her I might be there too." He stares at the screen, pretending this isn't important to him. "But Dad's busy, and the driver needs to know ahead of time, and there's probably security stuff..."
His voice trails off, resignation settling in his shoulders.
He's used to this—planning around logistics, around what's practical, around all the reasons fun things get cancelled.
"Do you want to go?" I ask before I can overthink it.
Henry's head snaps up. His entire face transforms. "Really?"
"Today," I add, doubling down on my impulse. "Right now."
Henry's excitement is immediate and electric. "Can I get a poster? And maybe check out the demo booths?"
"Absolutely." I feel reckless in the best way. "Go get your stuff. I'll leave a note."
Henry bolts upstairs.
This is harmless. Normal. I'm allowed to do something nice without asking permission.
Without feeling like I need a hall pass to exist in my own life.
I quickly buy two tickets and get them printing.
I grab my sparkly bag—the one that makes me feel like myself, the one that catches light and attention. I don't try to dress up beyond that. This trip is more escape than plan.
I grab our tickets as Henry bounces back downstairs with his hoodie and a backpack. His grin is wide and uncomplicated. "Should we tell Dad?"
I'm already heading for the door. "He's working. We shouldn't disturb him."
We slip out before I can rethink it. Before someone appears to tell me this isn't protocol.
I bypass the waiting car service and head straight for my old sedan. I haven't looked at it since Steve had it moved to the garage when I moved in.
It feels like reuniting with an old friend—slightly worn, definitely not luxury, but mine.
"We're taking this?" Henry asks, not disapproving, just surprised.
"Less noticeable," I reply, unlocking it with a beep that echoes through the garage. "Besides, I miss driving."
We pull out of the gates, and something tight in my chest finally loosens.
The city unfolds around us, familiar and uncomplicated.
I point out landmarks as we go—my old apartment building, the coffee shop where I used to work on weekend mornings, the bookstore with the cranky cat that sleeps in the window.
"Is that really your car?" Henry asks, running his hand along the slightly worn dashboard.
"Yep. I've had it since college."
"But you're rich now," he says, puzzled. "Don't you want something fancy?"
I laugh. "Being rich doesn't mean you have to throw away everything from before." I pat the steering wheel affectionately. "Sometimes the old things are the most comfortable. Like a favorite sweater with holes in it."
Henry considers this, nodding slowly. "Dad always says efficiency matters more than sentiment."
"Well," I say, turning onto the main road toward the convention center, "today we're choosing sentiment."
The convention center looms ahead, massive and buzzing with activity. Cars fill the parking lot, and people stream toward the entrance—some in elaborate costumes, others in t-shirts emblazoned with logos and characters.
Henry's eyes widen as we park. "It's bigger than I thought."
"Wait until we get inside."
CAMICon is everything at once. Lights. Sound. Color.
The main hall stretches endlessly, filled with booths and displays and activity zones. People in costume pose for photos, creating colorful traffic jams. Announcements echo overhead, barely audible above the collective hum of thousands of excited voices.
Henry clutches my arm, overwhelmed and thrilled. "This is amazing!"
I breathe easily for once. No house staff. No rules.
Just movement and laughter and a kid who is happy to be here with me.
We weave through the crowds, pausing at booths that catch Henry's eye. I buy him a limited edition New Age of Legends figurine that probably costs more than it should. He cradles it reverently, already planning where he'll display it in his room.
"Did you know they're adding a whole new realm in the next expansion?" Henry asks, launching into an explanation of game lore I only half-follow. I listen anyway, nodding at the right moments, because his excitement matters more than my comprehension.
We pass through different zones—gaming areas where people test new releases, panel rooms with lines snaking out the doors, a massive merchandise hall that stretches the length of a football field.
"Look!" Henry points to a poster listing celebrity appearances. "They have Elias Morgan from Shadow Realms! And Kayla Winters—she writes the books that got turned into that streaming series."
I scan the list, recognizing a few names—an actor from a popular streaming show, a fashion heir with a branded installation, a children's book illustrator with a signing line that wraps around the hall.
It's all background noise. This is his world right now, and for a moment, it feels like I belong in it too.
"Can we go to the gaming pavilion next?" Henry asks, already tugging me in that direction. "They have demo stations for unreleased titles."
"Lead the way," I laugh, letting him pull me through the crowd.
A woman smiles at me in the merchandise hall, her gaze lingering just a second too long. Then recognition clicks. Her eyes widen—not dramatically, but with certainty.
"Are you—" she starts, already reaching for her phone. "You're the lottery winner, right? The one who married the tech billionaire?"
My stomach dips. I've learned the script by now. Smile. Nod. Don't be rude. Don't make a scene.
I glance down at Henry, who's distracted by something shiny behind a booth.
"Just a quick photo," she says, sidling closer. "My sister won't believe me."
I step to the side, keeping it brief, angling my body away from Henry to avoid dragging him into the frame. I tell myself he's right there. That I can see him. That this is fine.
The photo is taken. The woman beams, already typing on her phone. "You're like, so normal in real life!"
Another person notices. Then another. Questions start. The lottery. The marriage. Where I got my bag. If Arthur is here too.
I answer politely but briefly, already backing away, reaching for Henry.
I turn back to where he was standing.
Henry isn't there.
At first, I assume he moved a few feet. Then a few more. I scan the immediate area, heart still steady, telling myself this is nothing. Kids wander. He probably saw something interesting.
"Henry?" I call, voice still calm.
No answer.
"Henry!" I try again, louder this time.
The noise presses in—voices, music, laughter, announcements echoing through the hall. My pulse starts to climb. I walk faster, weaving through bodies, eyes searching for his hoodie, his hair, him.
Nothing. The space where he should be stays empty.
My breath shortens. The world narrows. Every bad possibility stacks at once, uninvited and relentless.
I've lost him.