The kind of fear that a six-year-old should never, ever know or have to carry.
Ezoic
“Mama,” he whispered, his voice trembling. “We can’t go back home.”
My heart did a strange, sickening flip in my chest.
I crouched down in front of him right there in the middle of the concourse, holding his small arms gently.
“What do you mean, baby? Of course we’re going home. It’s late and you need to get to sleep, don’t you?”
His voice came out louder this time, desperate enough that several passing travelers actually turned their heads to look at us.
Ezoic
“Mama, please, we can’t go back there. Believe me this time. Please.”
This time.
Those two simple words hit me like a physical blow, because they were absolutely true.
The Warning Signs I’d Ignored Before
Weeks earlier, Kenzo had told me about a strange dark car parked directly in front of our house.
The same dark sedan, three nights in a row, just sitting there with tinted windows.
Ezoic
I’d told him dismissively it was probably just a coincidence, most likely a neighbor’s guest or something completely innocent.
Days after that, he had sworn to me that he’d heard his daddy talking quietly in his locked home office about “solving the problem once and for all.”
I’d told him that was just boring business stuff, that he shouldn’t be listening to grown-up conversations that didn’t concern him.
I hadn’t believed him.
Ezoic
Not once.
And now he was standing in front of me begging desperately, tears glazing his deep brown eyes.
“This time I believe you, Kenzo,” I said, forcing my voice to stay steady even though my insides were shaking violently. “I need you to explain to me exactly what’s going on.”
He looked around nervously as if afraid someone dangerous might overhear us.
Ezoic
Then he tugged insistently on my arm, pulling me closer until his lips were right by my ear.
“This morning,” he whispered so quietly I had to strain to hear, “really early before anyone else was awake. I woke up and went downstairs to get water, and I heard Daddy in his office on the phone.”
He paused, swallowing hard.
“Mama, he said that tonight when we were sleeping, something bad was going to happen to us. That he needed to be far away when it happened. That we… that we weren’t going to be in his way anymore.”
Ezoic
My blood ran absolutely cold.
“Kenzo, are you completely sure? Are you sure about what you heard?”
He nodded frantically, desperately.
“He said there were people who were going to take care of it. He said he was finally going to be free.”
His voice dropped to barely a whisper.
Ezoic
“Mama, his voice… it wasn’t Daddy’s normal voice. It was different. Scary. Like someone else.”
My first instinct was to deny everything he was saying.
To tell him he’d misunderstood, that his imagination was running wild, that Quasi would never, ever do something like that.
Never.
But then I started remembering things.
Ezoic
Little things I had filed away in the back of my mind and dismissed as nothing.
Quasi increasing his life insurance policy dramatically three months ago, saying it was just for “generational wealth,” just smart financial planning.
Quasi insisting that I sign everything—our expensive Buckhead house, the SUV, even our joint savings accounts—fully and completely into his name alone.
“It helps with taxes, babe. Trust me on this.”
Ezoic
Quasi getting visibly irritated whenever I mentioned wanting to go back to work now that Kenzo was in school.
“It’s not necessary, Ayira. I handle everything. You don’t need to work.”
The strange late-night phone calls he took locked away in his office, speaking in hushed tones.
The increasingly frequent out-of-town business trips.
