Chapter 3

A week passed. To the outside world, I had simply vanished.

Chloe' s calls became more frequent, her voice tighter with each one.

"Mark, this isn't like her," she said, her voice tinny through the phone speaker. "She would have at least texted me by now. I'm really getting worried."

Mark sighed dramatically into the phone. He was sitting on the couch, swirling a glass of whiskey, the picture of a concerned husband.

"Chloe, you know how she gets. She's probably embarrassed."

"Embarrassed? About what?"

"About the money," Mark said, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "She ran up the credit cards again. A lot this time. I think she's just hiding out until she figures out how to tell me. She did this once before, remember? Took off for a weekend."

It was a brilliant, vicious lie. He was taking a small truth-a time I had overspent by a hundred dollars and was nervous to tell him-and twisting it into this grand narrative of me as a financially reckless, unstable person who would abandon her family.

I remembered that incident clearly. It was years ago. He had found the credit card bill before I could tell him. He didn't yell. He did something worse. He sat me down at the kitchen table, his face a mask of disappointment.

"Ava, I'm not mad. I'm just hurt," he'd said, his voice soft and reasonable. "I work so hard for this family. For you and Leo. When you do something like this, it feels like you don't respect that. It feels like you don't respect me."

He made me feel so small, so guilty. He held my hand, his thumb stroking my knuckles.

"We'll tell everyone I made a mistake on our budget," he said. "It's okay. I'll take the blame. I'll protect you."

At the time, I thought it was kind. Now, I saw it for what it was: a rehearsal. He was practicing how to make me the villain, how to make himself the long-suffering saint.

"I... I don't know, Mark," Chloe said on the phone. Her voice was full of doubt, but also a sliver of weary acceptance. Mark had been planting these seeds for years.

"Just give her some space," he urged. "She'll come back when she's ready. I'm sure of it."

He ended the call and took a long drink of his whiskey. He looked satisfied. He had managed Chloe, for now.

I tried to do something, anything. I screamed his name, but no sound came out. I flew at him, trying to push him, but my form passed right through him like a puff of smoke. I flickered the lights in the living room, pouring all my energy, all my rage, into the effort. They fluttered for a second, a bare-ly perceptible dip in the current.

Mark glanced up, annoyed.

"Damn wiring in this house," he muttered, and went back to his drink.

It was useless. I was a ghost. A whisper. A faulty wire. I could see everything, hear everything, but I couldn't change anything.

The next day, he took Leo to the park. One of the other moms, a woman I used to have coffee with, came over to say hello.

"Hi, Mark! Haven't seen you guys in a while. Where's Ava?" she asked, smiling.

"Ah, she's taking a little 'me time'," Mark said, laughing it off. "Took off for a spa retreat or something. You know Ava, always a bit of a free spirit."

He said it so casually, with such convincing charm. The woman nodded, her smile sympathetic.

"Good for her! We all need a break sometimes. Tell her I said hi!"

He was painting a picture for the world, brushstroke by careful brushstroke. Ava, the free spirit. Ava, the financially irresponsible wife. Ava, the woman who would just walk away from her child. He was building my coffin out of lies.