The worst thing about uncertainty was how easily it started to feel like knowledge.
I had been thinking about Marcus's call for so long that every word seemed familiar.
But familiarity wasn't proof.
I knew what he had told me.
I knew what Sylvia had shouted.
And I knew Chloe was supposed to be at the downtown bus terminal.
Everything beyond that remained unanswered.
I looked at my phone again.
There had been no conversation with Chloe.
No explanation from her.
No chance to ask whether she was safe.
I could feel myself becoming angry all over again.
Marcus had left me with questions that no mother should have been expected to answer alone.
He had called before dawn on Thanksgiving.
He had spoken about his wife as if she were something he no longer wanted.
And he had expected me to handle the situation.
Just like that.
I wanted to believe I had misunderstood him.
But I hadn't misunderstood his words.
He had made his position clear.
What I didn't understand was why.
That was the question I kept returning to.
Why had Chloe ended up at the terminal?
Why had Marcus decided she couldn't come back?
Why had Sylvia considered a rug more important than explaining what happened?
I couldn't answer any of it.
My thoughts kept circling the same few facts.
The time.
The station.
The accusation.
The money.
The CEO.
I had spent years teaching myself not to make judgments from incomplete information.
Yet there I was, standing in my kitchen, doing exactly what I had warned myself against.
I was building explanations.
Then rejecting them.
Then building different ones.
It accomplished nothing.
I looked toward the counter.
The pies remained where I had left them.
Earlier, I had cared whether they would be ready for Thanksgiving.
Now I barely noticed them.
I thought about Chloe's careful habits.
She would have made a list for an important morning.
She would have checked what needed doing.
She would have prepared for things that might go wrong.
That was the daughter I knew.
But the fact that she liked planning did not mean life always followed her plans.
And it did not mean she could never become overwhelmed.
I knew better than to turn someone's ordinary habits into a guarantee.
Still, Marcus's description troubled me.
He hadn't spoken about Chloe as a complicated person who might be struggling.
He had given me a dismissive label.
Then expected me to accept it.
I remembered asking him what happened.
His refusal remained as clear as the rest of the conversation.
He had told me to ask Chloe.
Then he ended the call.
At first, I had felt insulted.
Now I was beginning to understand that the only useful thing in his response was the direction it pointed me.
Chloe needed to speak for herself.
I had no reason to keep arguing with someone who refused to explain.
But I also had no reason to decide that every accusation was false.
The truth might be difficult.
It might contain mistakes by people I loved.
I needed to be prepared for that.
I had to listen before deciding what I believed.
That was the standard I had followed professionally.
It couldn't become less important simply because my daughter was involved.
I picked up my phone again.
The screen offered no answers.
I was still frightened.
Still angry.
Still uncertain.
But one decision hadn't changed.
I would not allow Marcus's voice to be the only one heard.
Click here to continue reading: PART 14: Sylvia Had Named the Cost of Her Persian Rug, Yet No One Had Told Me What My Daughter Supposedly Did to It
My Son-in-Law Called Before Sunrise on Thanksgiving and Told Me to Collect My Daughter Like Something He Had Thrown Away
Part 13 of 20
