William woke with a start. The silence in the hallway was wrong. He grabbed his robe and sprinted to the nursery.
He keyed in the code. The door opened.
The bed was empty. The window was wide open, rain pooling on the hardwood floor.
“Victoria!” he shouted, running to the window. He saw the trampled hydrangeas below.
He didn’t call security. He didn’t call Beatrice. He pulled out his phone and opened the tracking app linked to the smartwatch he had gifted her months ago–the one she had refused to wear, but which he had slipped into her coat pocket during the “truce”.
The dot was moving fast, heading toward the Old River Road.
“She’s heading for the bridge,” William muttered, terror gripping his heart. “In this storm?”
He grabbed his keys and ran for the garage. He bypassed the sedan and jumped into his heavy-duty truck. He roared out of the estate, the headlights cutting through the deluge. He didn’t care about the custody battle or the company or the lies. He only cared that his wife was out in a hurricane, carrying his child, running from the home he had failed to make safe.