Page 30 of Lies in Promises
The feeling continued even as I kissed each of my kids on the head before I left for work.
I tried to push it down as I kissed Marisela goodbye for the day, but it seemed all that came of it was the feeling settling in the pit of my stomach.
“What time will you be back today?” my wife asks when I pull away from her, trying to ignore whatever the fuck it is I’m feeling.
“I should be back around three this afternoon,” I answer.
Something crosses her face, something I’m not able to decipher, but before I can question it, it disappears, and a small smile forms on her lips.
It happened so quickly, I’m questioning if it even happened. But it did. Something crossed my wife’s face, and seeing it for even less than a second, had the pit in my stomach becoming more prominent.
Everything is fine. The pit in your stomach is probably something you ate.
“I will be here when you get home,” Marisela says, the smile on her face growing a bit. The second my eyes register it, whatever I’m feeling disappears.
“Coming home to you and the kids is the best part of my day.” I place a chaste kiss on her lips. As much as I want to prolong it, I pull away. “Te amo,” I say, giving her a smile of my own.
“I love you, too. Now go.”
With one final kiss, I left the house for the day. Something was telling me I should have stayed home, work could wait, but again, I pushed it down and ignored it as best as I could.
That was a mistake.
Ignoring what I was feeling and walking away were the worst mistakes, and I knew it the second I approached my home a little after three.
The kids were home from school, so the house should have been lively. There should have been laughing and siblings screaming at each other filling the space, but it was quiet.
So quiet, it almost felt eerie.
Something is wrong. I just know it.
How?
How do I know?
Because what I feel as I approach the front door is something I’ve felt before.
Fourteen years ago, to be exact.
The night my parents died, I had this same feeling running through my body.
That feeling of dread, of pain and despair, I’m feeling now.
Whatever is waiting for me on the other side of the front door is not good.
I take a second to calm myself down, to push whatever I am feeling out of my body, but the desperation of not knowing becomes too much. I start running toward the house.
“Marisela!” I call out as I burst through the door, pausing for a quick second to listen. I try to see if I can pick up footsteps, a shuffle, words, but no sound comes my way.
My panic peaks.
“Marisela!” I call out again as I make my way to the kitchen—nothing.
She doesn’t answer, and I sure as hell don’t see her.
Where the fuck is she?
They could have gone to the store. They could be at her dad’s.
