Chapter 83
Kirsten
What the fuck is going on with these kidfluencer moms? They should all be locked up for how they use and abuse their children imo. And where the fuck are the dads?? #findElla #findMaple
God, my head hurts. Again. What is happening to me?
I have spent years enjoying a clandestine glass of wine in the pantry when the mood suits, but only one, with zero consequences attached.
Okay, there have been occasions when I’ve been tempted to have a second, but never a third glass.
And definitely not in public. But now I’ve done it three times in a fortnight.
Except, my daughter is missing. No one can expect me to function properly now.
I kick back the duvet, roll onto my side, and push up to sitting.
My brain judders inside my skull for a moment, but settles, so I risk standing up.
So far, so good. I walk into my bathroom, run the shower, then force myself to step under a stream of cold water.
It takes my breath away, and makes me shiver, but it helps.
I feel a wisp of energy seep in, my mind clear a degree or two.
Oh God.
I choke on some spray.
I told Garrett about Blake last night.
My heart bursts into a sprint, the new energy morphing into panic as I replay the moment. My head on his chest. His arms around my back. Feeling like a team again. At least he didn’t get angry when I told him, like he might have done. He just calmly asked to see my phone.
He’s got my phone. My very most private thing. Another lurch of panic grabs my insides. My stomach roils and I retch, spit out a dribble of red-tinted vomit, watch it snake down the drain. I feel dirty now, so I switch the shower to hot, close my eyes, let it burn my skin.
Last night Garrett blamed himself for Maple’s disappearance. Has he switched that blame to me now? I don’t remember him coming to bed last night, but I would have fallen asleep quickly, a bottle of wine on an empty stomach. And it’s not surprising that he got up before me this morning.
I need to see him. To work out exactly how mad he is with me and find a way back into his good books.
Garrett has disappointed me so many times over the years, but last night I realized that I still love him, in my own way.
And now, with Maple missing and the whole of social media hating on me, I need him.
I pull on a yellow sundress – his favorite – and head downstairs as fast as my hungover body will carry me.
‘Garrett?’ I call out, listening for noise. ‘Aspen? Ash?’ But I feel the emptiness as much as I hear it.
They’ll be at the park, I think. Garrett giving me some time to recover. Hopefully he’ll have left my phone somewhere obvious too.
And yes, it’s there in the kitchen. Exactly where my wine glass sat last night, except the contrast of the black handset against the white surface doesn’t have the same impact. In fact, it looks completely normal.
Except for the piece of paper next to it, folded, my name scrawled on the side facing up. I reach for it with a trembling hand.
Kirsten,
I know I’m not a perfect dad. But I have never used our kids to chase my own dreams like you have.
I should have stopped you years ago, but you wouldn’t let me near Maple, always finding silent ways to remind me how she wasn’t mine, that I had no jurisdiction.
Then you made me feel so worthless when I lost my job that the twins suffered from my indecision too.
It took other people – child psychologists, anthropologists, investigative journalists, survivors – on those podcasts you hate so much to make me realise what should have been obvious.
Children shouldn’t be on unregulated social media, period.
And they definitely shouldn’t be expected to earn their family income.
I wanted to convince you, not fight you.
But what you told me last night – how you abused Maple’s trust, her image, and her safety in such an abhorrent way – made me realize that there is no hope for us, or for you.
So I’m taking the twins, and when Maple gets in touch – because I have to believe she will, that your disgusting pedo buddy Blake hasn’t taken her – I will make it clear that she will always have a home with me.
And that she should never live with you again.
Goodbye, Kirsten. As a Christian, I hope you find redemption.
But as a father, I hope you suffer.