Chapter 7 - A Mother's True Colors
"The driver was instructed to take them to the regional municipal airport, Mr. Vance," the concierge replied carefully.
"Did she book a commercial flight or a private charter?" Daniel asked, his voice shaking with desperation as he grabbed his car keys from the counter.
"She purchased two one-way commercial tickets to Chicago on the 5:15 PM flight," the concierge stated.
Daniel checked his wristwatch with a sinking heart: it was already 4:40 PM.
The regional airport was twenty-five minutes away through heavy coastal tourist traffic.
"Thank you," Daniel choked out, sprinting out of the villa and toward the valet parking pavilion.
He threw his valet ticket at the attendant, pacing back and forth like a caged predator until his black SUV was brought to the curb.
Daniel threw himself into the driver's seat, slamming his foot against the accelerator, tires squealing loudly against the tarmac.
He wove aggressively through the resort gates and merged onto the highway, his hands gripping the leather steering wheel until his knuckles went dead white.
As he drove, his mind flashed back to the beginning of their relationship seven years ago.
He had met Emily at a modest Italian bistro in downtown Boston where she had been working double shifts to put herself through nursing school.
She hadn't known his last name; she hadn't known his family owned half the commercial real estate along the waterfront.
She had simply smiled at him after a grueling sixteen-hour day, offering him an extra slice of warm focaccia because he looked tired.
When Daniel finally proposed two years later, Patricia had staged a dramatic heart episode to delay the wedding.
When that failed, Patricia had offered Emily a cashier's check for two million dollars to simply disappear from Daniel's life forever.
Emily had torn the check into tiny pieces right in front of Patricia's face and dropped them into her expensive tea cup.
Emily had never told Daniel about that incident; Daniel had only found out years later from a drunken confession by his cousin.
Even then, Daniel had confronted his mother with mild annoyance rather than the ferocious outrage she deserved.
*“She was just testing you, Emily,”* he had foolishly told his wife back then. *“She wanted to make sure you loved me for me.”*
The memory made Daniel slam his hand against the steering wheel in self-loathing disgust.
He had gaslit his own wife for years, making her feel like she was the insecure, paranoid one, just to avoid confronting his mother’s sociopathic narcissism.
And today, Patricia had escalated from psychological warfare to physical destruction.
Daniel sped down the airport expressway, running a yellow light and swerving past slow-moving delivery trucks.
He pulled up to the airport terminal curb at 5:02 PM, leaving the engine running and the hazard lights flashing as he jumped out.
A traffic enforcement officer immediately blew a whistle at him, but Daniel ignored the man completely, sprinting through the automatic glass doors.
The terminal was small, bustling with travelers carrying luggage toward security checkpoints.
Daniel scanned the crowds frantically, his eyes darting past families, business travelers, and flight attendants.
Then, near the entrance to the TSA screening lane, he spotted them.
Emily was standing in line, carrying Sophie in a lightweight travel stroller she must have purchased in the airport gift shop.
Sophie had been changed into a dry, oversized gray hoodie that swallowed her tiny frame, her damp curls peeking out from the hood.
Emily’s posture was stiff, her shoulders tense, her face still bearing the unmistakable red imprint of his violence.
"Emily!" Daniel shouted across the crowded terminal, his voice cracking with pure panic.
Several travelers turned to stare at him, but Emily didn't flinch.
She slowly turned her head toward the sound of his voice, her eyes utterly devoid of surprise or emotion.
She had known he would come.
Daniel broke into a run, dodging past a couple with luggage carts, stopping five feet short of the security barrier.
"Emily, please don't get on that plane," Daniel pleaded, panting heavily, his hands raised in surrender.
"Step back, sir," the TSA agent warned, looking between Daniel's frantic state and Emily's bruised face.
"It's fine, officer," Emily said softly to the guard. "He's not coming through."
Emily stepped out of the screening line, wheeling the stroller a few feet toward Daniel, keeping the metal barrier firmly between them.
Sophie looked up from under her oversized hood, her little eyes widening with immediate fear when she saw her father.
She didn't reach out for him; she shrank back into the fabric of the stroller, burying her face into her knees.
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That single, terrified reaction from his daughter pierced Daniel's soul more deeply than any blade ever could.
His own child was afraid of him.
