Chapter 33 Lindsay
Chapter thirty-three
Lindsay
Ipivot slowly, scanning faces, banners, costumes. Too many colors. Too many people.
My heart pounds hard enough to drown out the noise.
I tell myself not to panic. That kids wander. That he knows the rules.
But the crowd keeps moving. And Henry does not reappear.
A group of teens with matching anime wigs closes in front of me. Someone bumps my shoulder and keeps walking.
"Henry!" I call, my voice swallowed by the convention center's vastness.
I retrace my steps, weaving through bodies, calling his name louder now.
I catch flashes of him everywhere. His hair color. A blue shirt. A backpack.
Each time I'm wrong, my chest tightens a little more.
This used to be the kind of place where wandering was harmless. Where losing sight of someone for a minute meant nothing more than a laugh and a story later. I know how this works.
Except I don't anymore. Not with cameras everywhere. Not with my face on screens.
This isn't just any kid who's wandered off. This is Henry Dupree. Son of Arthur Dupree.
My phone buzzes. Arthur's name flashes on the screen. I can't answer it. Not like this.
The phone goes silent. Then immediately buzzes again.
I scan another row of booths.
More faces. More costumes.
No Henry.
"Have you seen a boy?" I ask a vendor, my words tumbling out too fast. "Ten years old. Dark hair. Blue hoodie."
The man shakes his head, already looking past me to the next customer.
I finally find security because I need help.
A woman in a black polo with "STAFF" emblazoned across the back. I grab her arm without thinking.
"My—" I catch myself. Not my son. Not officially. "I lost a child. Henry Dupree. He's ten. Dark hair. Blue hoodie. We were just at the merch hall and now he's gone."
Security moves fast. I give his description. My voice shakes despite my effort to steady it. The guard nods once, already speaking into a headset.
"Attention CAMICon attendees," a voice booms over the speakers. "We are assisting a guardian searching for a minor named Henry. If you are with Henry, please proceed to—"
The rest blurs. I stand frozen as whispers ripple outward and heads turn.
This is exactly what Arthur warned me about.
I wrap my arms around myself and wait.
Henry appears less than two minutes later. He's red-faced and mortified, walking beside a security guard like he's being escorted out of a crime scene.
The relief hits me so hard my knees almost buckle.
"There you are," I breathe, rushing forward.
Henry looks at the ground, not at me. "I was just saying hi to Jenny," he mutters, not meeting my eyes. "She's in my class. She said she was coming. I told you."
I pull him into a hug anyway, gripping him tight enough that he stiffens. The guard clears his throat gently, then steps away, already disengaging.
Henry pulls back, cheeks flushed. "You didn't have to freak out," he says quietly.
I swallow the apology burning my throat. Because he's right. And because it doesn't matter.
The security guard steps closer. "Ma'am, we've been in contact with your husband's security team. They've instructed us to escort you both to a secure exit." His voice is neutral but his eyes flick to my face with recognition. "And for you to go home."
My stomach drops. Increased interest. Headlines forming as we speak.
Another guard joins us, and suddenly we're being moved through the convention center with purpose.
"I didn't get to see anything," Henry says, his voice small and tight.
"I know," I say. "Sorry. But you didn't stay with me. You disappeared. And your dad freaked out when we were missing."
The words feel woefully inadequate.
We're guided through a service corridor, then out a side door where a black SUV waits. Not mine. Not Arthur's regular driver. Security detail.
They'll send someone for my car.
The ride home is quiet. Henry stares out the window, embarrassment radiating off him in waves. I keep replaying the moment over and over—when I turned, when he wasn't there, when panic took over.
I never should have taken him there in the first place.
My phone buzzes with a text. Quinn.
Are you okay?
The text is simple. Direct. Non-judgmental.
We're fine. Coming home now.
I type back.
I don't ask if Arthur knows. I don't need to. Of course he knows.
The city slides past the window, beautiful and indifferent. Henry's reflection stares back at me, his expression shuttered in a way that reminds me too much of his father.
"I'm sorry," I say again. "I should have watched you better."
Henry sighs. "It wasn't your fault. I saw Jenny and just went to say hi. I should have told you." He glances at me, then away. "Are we in trouble?"
"I am," I say honestly.
Arthur's house comes into view sooner than I'm ready for. Lights on. Security posted. His car already in the drive.
As the SUV comes to a stop, I know this: Henry may be safe. I am not.