Chapter 4 - The Empty Nest
Monday morning at 7:15 a.m., Derek Vance woke up to silence.
Usually, at this time, the apartment was filled with the sounds of a blender whirring, water running in the kitchen, and Sophie chattering about her morning cartoons while Claire bustled between the counter and the table.
Today, there was nothing.
Derek rolled over, rubbing his eyes, and sat up on the edge of the guest bed. His head throbbed slightly from the wine he’d finished alone on Friday night after Claire walked away.
“Claire?” he called out, his voice raspy.
No answer.
He stood up, walking down the short hallway toward the master bedroom. The door was open. The bed was made—neatly, too neatly, with the decorative pillows arranged in a way Claire never bothered with when she was rushing to get Sophie to preschool.
He checked the kitchen.
Pristine. The counters were wiped down. The coffee maker was empty.
Then he noticed the refrigerator door. A small yellow sticky note was stuck to the stainless-steel handle in Claire’s neat handwriting:
Derek, Keys are on the counter. The lawyer was right about one thing: you’re going to need him. —C.
Derek frowned. He walked over to the kitchen island.
Resting beside the fruit bowl was the silver key ring with the faded red ribbon.
“Ridiculous,” he muttered to himself, grabbing his phone to call her.
He dialed her cell. It went straight to voicemail. He tried again. Same result.
A prickle of unease finally pierced his confidence. He walked down the hall to Sophie’s room and pushed the door open.
The room was completely empty.
Not just tidy—empty. The toddler bed was stripped down to the bare mattress. The bookshelf where the red engine stories lived was completely bare. Even the pink rug on the floor was gone.
Derek froze in the doorway, his phone slipping an inch in his sweaty palm.
“Claire?” he shouted, his voice cracking against the barren walls.
He ran back to the hallway wardrobe and yanked the sliding door open. The winter coats were gone. The bins were gone.
He pulled out his phone and dialed his mother.
Carol answered on the second ring, her voice crisp and bright. “Derek, darling. Did you serve her the papers yet? I told you, once you show strength, women like Claire fall right into line.”
“Mom,” Derek choked out, his throat tightening as the reality of what had happened finally crashed through his defenses. “She’s gone.”
A pause on the other end. “What do you mean, she’s gone? To the grocery store?”
“No,” Derek shouted, panic finally breaking his voice. “Her clothes are gone. Sophie’s bed is gone. The whole apartment is empty!”
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“Well, where could she go?” Carol scoffed, though a tremor had entered her own voice. “She has no money, no car of her own, and nowhere in the city—driver!”
“She didn't stay in the city, Mom,” Derek whispered, staring at the bare kitchen island where his coffee maker sat cold and forgotten. “She didn't stay anywhere near the city.”
