We spent the first night in a hotel near the airport.
Elena paid.
I argued.
She ignored me.
Normally that would have made me angry.
Instead, I was too tired to fight.
The room had two beds, beige curtains and an air conditioner loud enough to cover hallway noise.
I checked the deadbolt six times.
Then I pushed a chair beneath the handle.
Elena watched without commenting.
Maya fell asleep instantly.
I didn’t.
At two in the morning, I sat on the bathroom floor because it was the only place with a door between me and my daughter.
I opened the disaster binder.
Read the custody order again.
Then the restraining order.
Then the police report.
Nothing had changed.
I still needed the paper to tell me I wasn’t imagining my own life.
My phone vibrated.
My attorney.
Call me when you’re awake.
I was awake.
I called.
For forty minutes, she walked me through the next steps.
Document the airline contact.
Forward the voicemail.
Ask Miami police whether Richard’s statement about knowing Elena’s address could be appended to the incident report.
Do not reveal our location.
Do not meet him.
Attend Monday’s interview if I safely could, because financial independence mattered.
That last part almost made me laugh.
The interview.
I had forgotten.
It was less than thirty hours away.
“What if he’s still here?”
“He might be.”
“Then how do I walk into a hospital and pretend I’m normal?”
“You don’t need to be normal,” she said. “You need to be present.”
I wrote that down.
At four, I finally slept.
At six, Maya woke screaming.
“Daddy!”
I sat up so fast I nearly fell from bed.
She was tangled in the blanket.
I reached for her, then stopped.
“Can Mama touch you?”
Her eyes opened.
She launched herself at me.
I held her.
Elena turned on the lamp.
“No Daddy,” Maya cried. “No yelling.”
“I know.”
“I was good.”
My heart cracked.
“You don’t have to be good to make people stop yelling.”
She sobbed harder.
I rocked her.
“You don’t ever have to earn quiet.”
I don’t know whether a three-year-old can understand a sentence like that.
Maybe I was saying it to myself.
Later that morning, we moved again.
Elena had a friend who managed short-term corporate apartments. One unit was vacant for four days between tenants.
No public reservation.
Underground parking.
Secure entry.
It wasn’t a permanent solution.
But for four days, we had a door that locked from the inside.
That felt like luxury.
I changed every password I could remember.
Email.
Banking.
Airline.
Phone carrier.
Cloud storage.
Hospital licensing account.
Then I froze at a shared photo service.
Thousands of pictures.
Wedding.
Maya’s birth.
Christmas.
Beach trips.
Proof of a life that had looked normal.
I changed that password too.
At noon, someone knocked.
My blood turned to ice.
Elena looked through the peephole.
“Delivery.”
“I didn’t order anything.”
“Me neither.”
We stayed silent.
The knock came again.
Then a man’s voice.
“Package for Jensen.”
My knees weakened.
Elena whispered, “Call security.”
I did.
Building security arrived before we opened the door.
The package was a small insulated bag.
Inside were three things.
A stuffed lion.
A box of sealed snacks for Maya.
And a card.
My first instinct was terror.
Then I saw the handwriting.
Block letters.
Not Richard’s.
The card read:
FOR MAYA.
LEO HAS TOO MANY STUFFED ANIMALS.
THIS ONE HAS BOTH EYES.
NO NEED TO REPLY.
—DOMINIC
I stared at it.
Elena stared too.
“Who is Dominic?”
“The baby’s father.”
“The screaming baby?”
“Yes.”
She picked up the lion.
“Rich?”
“What?”
“He sent a stuffed animal through same-day delivery to a place you never gave him.”
My stomach dropped.
I grabbed the card.
“How did he know the address?”
Elena’s face changed.
“Clare.”
Panic surged so fast it made me dizzy.
I called the delivery company using the number on the label.
The order had been placed through Elena’s corporate account.
Not Dominic.
Elena blinked.
“Oh.”
“What?”
“I asked the hotel desk this morning whether they knew anywhere nearby that delivered children’s supplies. I mentioned we were moving here. The concierge probably put the corporate apartment address into the delivery request when Dominic called the hotel.”
I stared.
“That still means he called the hotel.”
“He had your name.”
“Richard has my name too.”
Elena put the lion down.
“You’re right.”
I texted Dominic.
How did you get this address?
The reply came quickly.
I didn’t. I asked the hotel desk whether they could forward a package to you. They said you had checked out and offered to forward it through the reservation contact. I do not know where you are. If that crossed a line, I apologize.
I read it twice.
No defensiveness.
No “I was only trying to help.”
No accusation that I was overreacting.
Just an explanation and an apology.
Thank you for explaining.
I looked at the stuffed lion.
Maya had already named it Roar.
I let her keep it.
That afternoon, Dominic emailed a short written statement.
He described the flight.
