Chapter Three: Ethan’s Empty Calls
In Seattle, Ethan Parker was drowning in meetings.
Every hour brought another problem. Engineers blamed contractors. Contractors blamed city inspectors. Investors called at midnight. His phone buzzed constantly, and each time he hoped it was Hannah.
Most of the time, it was his mother.
Hannah is sleeping.
Hannah is emotional today.
Hannah doesn’t want to talk.
The baby is fine.
I’m handling everything.
At first, Ethan believed her.
He hated himself for being away, but Patricia’s messages were steady and confident. She sent pictures of Owen wrapped in blue blankets, sleeping in the nursery or resting in her arms. She sent updates about feeding times, diaper changes, and doctor appointments.
But she sent no photos of Hannah.
That bothered him.
On the second night, Ethan called Hannah directly.
The phone rang until voicemail.
He tried again.
Nothing.
A minute later, Patricia called.
“She’s finally asleep,” Patricia said. “Don’t wake her.”
“I just want to hear her voice.”
“You sound guilty.”
“I am guilty.”
“Then don’t make it worse by disturbing her.”
Ethan rubbed his eyes. He was standing in a hotel hallway, still wearing his suit from fourteen hours earlier.
“Mom, put the phone near her. I’ll just say goodnight.”
Patricia sighed. “Ethan, you need to trust me.”
There it was.
The sentence that had controlled him since childhood.
Trust me.
When his father died, Patricia had told twelve-year-old Ethan to trust her while she sold the family home and moved them into her parents’ estate.
When he chose a college out of state, Patricia cried until he stayed closer.
When he married Hannah, Patricia smiled through the wedding and later told him his wife was “sweet, but fragile.”
Trust me.
Ethan had been trained to hear those words as love.
So he exhaled and said, “Okay.”
But after the call ended, he did not sleep.
He opened the baby monitor app on his phone.
The nursery camera showed an empty crib.
Ethan sat up.
He refreshed the feed.
Still empty.
He called his mother.
She answered on the fourth ring, annoyed. “What now?”
“Where’s Owen?”
“With me. Hannah needed sleep.”
“At two in the morning?”
“He was crying.”
“Why didn’t Hannah feed him?”
“She was too tired.”
Something in Ethan tightened.
“Let me speak to her.”
“I told you she’s sleeping.”
“Wake her.”
Patricia’s voice chilled. “Do not speak to me like I’m an employee.”
Ethan closed his eyes. “Mom, wake my wife.”
A pause.
Then Patricia said, “Fine.”
He heard movement. A door opening. Faint crying.
Then Hannah’s voice came through, thin and disoriented.
“Ethan?”
He stood immediately. “Hannah. Hey. Are you okay?”
Silence.
“Hannah?”
“I’m okay,” she whispered.
He frowned. “You don’t sound okay.”
“I’m just tired.”
“Are you eating?”
Another pause.
“Yes.”
“Is Owen with you?”
Before Hannah could answer, Patricia’s voice cut in from somewhere nearby. “Tell him the baby is fine.”
Ethan heard it.
This time, he truly heard it.
“Hannah,” he said slowly, “is my mother in the room?”
“Yes.”
“Do you want her there?”
The line went quiet.
Too quiet.
Then Hannah said, “I have to go.”
“Hannah, wait—”
The call ended.
Ethan stared at the screen.
For the first time, fear entered him.
He booked the earliest flight home.
But storms delayed the airports. His direct flight became a connection. His connection became six hours of waiting under fluorescent lights while his calls went unanswered.
He called Maria.
No answer.
He called the house line.
Patricia answered.
“Why are you calling the house like a stranger?” she asked.
“I’m coming home.”
Silence.
Then, too quickly, “That’s unnecessary.”
“I’m coming home, Mom.”
“You’ll ruin everything.”
Ethan froze. “What does that mean?”
“It means Hannah finally needs structure. I am giving it to her.”
“Structure?”
“She is dramatic. She cries, she sleeps, she refuses to follow instructions. That child needs a stable woman in the house.”
“That child has a mother.”
Patricia’s voice sharpened. “Not a good one.”
Ethan felt something old and heavy crack inside him.
“Do not talk about my wife like that.”
Patricia laughed once, coldly. “Your wife has made you weak.”
“No,” Ethan said. “You just hate that I love someone you can’t control.”
He hung up.
Then he called 911 for a welfare check.
But Patricia knew how to perform.
When officers arrived at the mansion, she greeted them with pearls, tea, and a worried smile. Hannah, pale and terrified, stood beside the staircase with Owen in her arms. Patricia’s hand rested gently on Hannah’s shoulder.
A warning.
“Everything is fine,” Hannah said when the officer asked.
The officer looked at the baby. Owen was quiet.
Hannah’s sleeve covered her wrist.
The officers left.
Patricia closed the door.
Her hand dropped from Hannah’s shoulder.
“You humiliated me,” she said.
Hannah backed away.
“I didn’t call them.”
“Don’t lie.”
“I didn’t.”
Patricia stepped closer. “You think Ethan coming home will save you?”
Hannah said nothing.
Patricia smiled.
“My son always comes back to me.”
But this time, Patricia was wrong.
May you like
Ethan was already on his way.
And the house had recorded more than she knew.
