The dreaded call came late afternoon. My babysitter, Mrs. Henderson, had a sudden family emergency. She couldn’t watch Leo after school. My heart sank. I had no backup, and leaving work early was out of the question with Jonathan’s eagle eyes on me.
“Mommy can’t pick me up?” Leo’s voice, small and confused, came through the phone.
“No, sweetie, not today,” I said, trying to keep my voice light. “But you’re coming to work with Mommy! It’ll be an adventure.”
It was far from an adventure. It was a desperate measure. Jonathan would likely see it as another mark against my “unstable” character, another sign of my “distraction.” But I had no choice.
I picked up Leo from school, explaining the situation as cheerfully as I could. He was, surprisingly, excited. The office, to him, was a mysterious, grown-up place.
We arrived back at Harmony Home Goods, the late afternoon light casting long shadows. The office was quieter now, most people having left. Jonathan’s door was, once again, unlocked. He must have left in a hurry.
“Okay, buddy,” I whispered to Leo, settling him at my desk with his backpack and a coloring book. “You need to be very quiet, okay? Mommy has to finish some work.”
He nodded earnestly, his tongue sticking out in concentration as he colored a dinosaur. I tried to focus on my spreadsheet, but my mind kept darting to Jonathan’s office. An unlocked door, again. It felt like a recurring, dangerous opportunity.
Leo, however, quickly grew bored with his coloring book. I heard the rustle of paper, then a small sigh. He started to squirm in his chair, his eyes wide with curiosity, taking in the unfamiliar surroundings.
“Mommy, can I explore?” he whispered, pointing a small finger towards the quiet hallway. “Just a little bit?”
My stomach clenched. Allowing him to wander was another risk. But he was stifled, and I was so close to finishing a critical report. A few minutes wouldn’t hurt, I reasoned, as long as he stayed close. Jonathan was gone for the day, I was sure.
“Okay,” I relented, “but only for five minutes, and don’t touch anything, and no running. Just look, okay?”
“Okay!” he whispered back, his eyes lighting up. He slipped off my chair and padded quietly down the hallway, his small figure disappearing around the corner.
My heart hammered with a mixture of fear and guilt. What if he ran into someone? What if Jonathan hadn’t really left? The casual cruelty of my situation, having to bring my child into such a toxic environment, weighed heavily on me. I was exposing him, however inadvertently, to the very threat I was trying to protect him from.
I tried to refocus on my work, but my gaze kept drifting to the empty hallway. I heard the faint sounds of his exploration: a light tap, a soft shuffle. He was just being Leo, naturally curious, exploring a new environment with the boundless energy of a six-year-old. He was completely oblivious to the high stakes of his innocent play.
A few minutes later, I heard a louder thud, followed by a triumphant little gasp. My head snapped up. It sounded like it came from Jonathan’s office. Panic flared.
“Leo?” I called out, my voice sharp with alarm.
There was no immediate answer. Only the faintest sound of rustling. My blood ran cold. He had gone into Jonathan’s office. The one room I explicitly avoided, the one room filled with danger. My stomach twisted with a potent mix of fear and self-reproach. I should have never let him out of my sight.
I pushed back my chair, my heart pounding, ready to rush to his side. The casual innocence of his exploration was about to collide with the dark secrets of Jonathan Finch’s world. This visit to the office, a desperate necessity for me, was turning into something far more dangerous for my son.
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