Part 3: The Phone on the Table
At 2:20, Alana and Ellie dragged their suitcases to the front door.
Mason followed them, carrying Dustin’s blue truck under one arm.
I held out my hand.
“That belongs to Dustin.”
Mason tightened his grip.
“Grandma gave it to me.”
Alana stepped between us.
“It’s a toy, Clarissa. Don’t create another scene.”
“I’m not creating one. I’m returning my son’s belongings.”
Mason looked from me to his mother. Then, without arguing, he handed me the truck.
As I gave it to Dustin, Mason whispered, “I’m sorry.”
Ellie grabbed her son’s shoulder.
“You don’t apologize when you haven’t done anything wrong.”
For the first time, Mason looked directly at her.
“You told me to say Dustin broke the flowerpot.”
The room became silent.
Ellie’s face changed.
“Mason, stop talking.”
“But he didn’t break it. Grandma knocked it over when she moved the chair.”
Alana seized her suitcase handle.
“The child is confused.”
“No, I’m not,” Mason said. “You said if Dustin got in enough trouble, Aunt Clarissa wouldn’t bring him here anymore.”
Ellie rushed her son outside before he could say another word.
At 2:28, their taxi pulled away.
I locked the door and turned on the alarm.
Dustin and I stood in the sudden quiet.
The dining table was still covered with dirty plates. Chicken bones, crumpled napkins, and half-empty glasses were scattered everywhere.
Then I noticed Ellie’s phone.
It was still lying face down beside her plate.
The screen lit up when another call came in.
Parker Calling.
Below his name was a red bar.
Voice Recording: 1 hour, 43 minutes.
Ellie must have started recording before I arrived. Perhaps she had been making a message or filming something for social media. When she placed the phone down, she had forgotten to stop it.
I touched the screen only to end the recording.
I had no intention of searching through her private messages. I planned to return the phone as soon as possible.
But before the screen locked, the most recent audio file appeared.
Its title had been generated automatically:
Country House—Friday, 12:41 p.m.
Dustin stood beside me.
“Is that when they were talking about me?”
I looked at the phone.
Then I looked at my son.
I knew listening to someone else’s recording was complicated. But the conversation had happened in my house, around my child, and there was already evidence they planned to lie about what had occurred.
I pressed play.
At first, we heard the scrape of plates and the sound of the television.
Then Ellie’s voice came through clearly.
“Don’t give Dustin any chicken. If you give in now, he’ll think he belongs here.”
Alana laughed.
“He already thinks everything Clarissa owns will belong to him someday.”
“What about the country house?” Ellie asked.
“Parker will get his share eventually. Clarissa can’t keep everything away from her husband forever.”
My stomach tightened.
Ellie lowered her voice.
“If Parker convinces her to put his name on the deed, we can use the house whenever we want.”
“He’s too soft with her,” Alana replied. “And he’s too attached to that child.”
Then came the sentence that changed everything.
“We have to make Parker understand that Dustin will never be his real son. Once Clarissa sends the boy away for the summer or lets his father take him, Parker can focus on his actual family.”
Dustin stopped breathing for a moment.
I quickly paused the recording.
He stared at the floor.
“Dad doesn’t want to send me away, does he?”
“No,” I said firmly. “Your dad has never said that.”
But I no longer knew what Parker had discussed with them when I wasn’t present.
I led Dustin onto the porch, made him a sandwich, and called my best friend, Naomi, who lived twenty minutes away.
When she arrived, I asked her to take Dustin for ice cream.
“I need to speak to Parker alone,” I explained.
Dustin hugged me before leaving.
“Don’t let them make Dad stop loving me.”
I waited until the car disappeared down the road before allowing myself to cry.
For illustrative purposes only
