“Take them both back to the Lake Forest estate,” Russell ordered. “Lock them in the basement until the dinner is over and I can deal with this properly.”
“Russell, please,” I said, but the guards were already stepping forward, their heavy boots loud on the hardwood.
One of them reached for my arm, his grip firm and unyielding as he turned us toward the service exit that led to the parking lot.
The basement of our Lake Forest home was cold, smelling of old concrete and the expensive cedar trunks Russell used to store his winter suits. The single bulb hanging from the low ceiling cast long, weak shadows across the concrete floor, illuminating the dust motes dancing in the cold air that leaked from the high vents.
Phoebe sat on a wooden crate in the corner, her knees pulled up to her chest, her small fingers clutching her stuffed rabbit. She was shivering, her breath forming tiny plumes of mist in the damp room, her small shoulders shaking.
The heavy door at the top of the stairs creaked open, and Russell descended, followed closely by Gwendolyn, who had pinned her torn sleeve back together with a silver safety pin she had found somewhere downstairs.
In Russell’s hand was the five-dollar spool of pink silk ribbon I had left on the kitchen counter earlier that afternoon.
“Stand up, Heather,” Russell said, his voice hard as he stepped onto the concrete floor.
He pulled a length of the pink ribbon from the spool, the silk rustling in the quiet room.
“You are going to sit here and reflect on what you have taught our daughter,” Russell said, grabbing my wrists and pulling them together.
“Russell, this is ridiculous,” I said, not pulling away because I did not want to frighten Phoebe further. “You are locking your wife in a basement over a lie.”
“You are a guest in my house, Heather,” Russell said, binding my wrists tightly with the pink ribbon, tying a double knot that cut into my skin. “You brought nothing to this marriage, and you will leave with nothing.”
He checked his gold watch again, his fingers tapping against the metal casing with a rapid, nervous rhythm that showed his anxiety about the dinner downstairs.
“If you ever use my daughter for your jealousy again, I swear I will take away your right to call yourself her mother,” Russell said.
Gwendolyn stood on the bottom step, her fingers twisting a lock of her hair, watching us with a calm, steady gaze that held no sympathy, only a quiet satisfaction.
“We have to go back to the club, Russell,” Gwendolyn said in her high, breathless voice. “The board members are waiting for the presentation.”
Russell turned and began to climb the wooden stairs, his shoes heavy on each step, the wood groaning under his weight.
“Russell, look at the security cameras from the venue dressing room first,” I said, my voice steady despite the tightness in my chest. “Just look at the tape.”
Russell did not pause or look back.
The heavy basement door clicked shut, leaving us in the shadows.
I shifted my weight on the cold concrete floor of the Lake Forest estate basement. The darkness down here was absolute, smelling of expensive cedar wood and the damp, stale air of a forgotten storage room.
The five-dollar pink silk ribbon Russell had tied around my wrists felt tight, the cheap fibers cutting into my skin every time I tried to move my hands. He had knotted it three times, a petty demonstration of his anger before he walked out and left us in the shadows.
Phoebe huddled against my side, her small frame shivering in the autumn chill that always settled in the lower levels of the house. She clutched her stuffed rabbit to her chest, her fingers buried deep in its gray faux fur.
The toy was the only thing she had managed to grab before Russell dragged us down the stairs. I hated that she had to see him like this, stripped of the polite, successful facade he wore for his business partners.
“Mommy,” she whispered, her voice barely carrying through the quiet room.
I leaned my head against her soft hair, wishing I could brush the stray curls from her eyes. With my hands bound behind my back, I could only press my shoulder against hers to let her know I was there.
“I am right here, sweetheart,” I said, my voice low and deliberate. “We are going to be fine. Just close your eyes and rest.”
She rubbed her eyes with the back of her small hand, a sure sign she was reaching the limit of her strength. The constant hum of the water heater in the far corner was the only sound in the quiet space, keeping time like a slow, heavy heart.
“Mommy did not do anything wrong,” Phoebe whispered, her breath warm against my neck. “I saw Aunt Gwendolyn walk into the dressing room all by herself.”
I froze, my fingers automatically twitching toward my collarbone before the tight ribbon pulled my wrists back down. I stared into the shadows, trying to find her face in the gloom.
“What did you see, Phoebe?” I asked, keeping my voice as calm as I could manage.
“She had the big silver scissors,” Phoebe said. “The ones from the kitchen drawer with the black handles.”
