Where We Went Wrong - Kelsey Kingsley

PROLOGUE

He’s late again.

He’s always late.

He wouldn’t be late if he’d hire someone to help him out, but oh, wait. Hiring someone requires money, and that’s exactly what we don’t have.

He said we’d have money by now. He said we’d be well off. That was years ago.

Our youngest was pulled violently from sleep, to vomit all over the couch and pillow he laid upon. With an aggravated groan, I stood from the chair and grabbed another blanket for him, along with a rag and the nearly empty bottle of cleaner. I situated my son at the other end of the couch, patted his head and instructed him to go back to sleep, and set to scrubbing the sofa.

Dammit, I wish he was here to wipe the puke stains off of this fucking couch. I wish he was here to take care of his kids. I wish he was here, period.

“Mommy,” Vinnie cried from the other end of the sofa. “My belly hurts.”

“I know! I know it does!”

I shouldn’t snap at him. It’s not his fault he picked up a stomach bug at school. It’s not his fault that he’s been puking and shitting all over himself all damn night. It’s not his fault his father isn’t here.

“Here, honey, sip on this,” I said, handing him a cup of flat ginger ale, making sure my tone had softened to something a little more motherly.

That’s better. He’s my son. I love him. I shouldn’t be mad at him for being sick.

Vinnie’s sip of ginger ale sputtered up from his lips, and it was followed quickly by another round of projectile vomit, covering his fresh pair of pajamas and the last clean blanket in the apartment. Tears spilled from his eyes as his little body heaved, contorting violently with every lurch and bout of puke. And I just stood there, watching as my youngest baby cried and gagged and threw up, begging me in broken sentences to make it better.

But I couldn’t make anything better.

I need to get out of here.

“M-Mommy!” he cried, looking at me through pleading, brown eyes. His father’s eyes. Not mine.

Help him. Do something. He’s your son.

He’s his son, too.

“You’re okay. You’re going to be okay.” My hand touched the back of his clammy, little neck. He was so hot. His fever hadn’t broken yet. “Just lay down.”

“It’s too hot. I can’t sleep. I … I don’t …” His face told me all I needed to know just moments before he vomited again, all over the couch cushions.

“Dammit,” I groaned through gritted teeth, clenching my fists.

I’m done. I’m packing my things. I don’t need a lot. Just a few pairs of pants, a couple shirts … Just enough to get the hell out of here and …

Where the hell would I even go? What else is out there?

Isn’t that what I’ve always wanted to know? Isn’t that what we were going to do? See the world and find an adventure that didn’t include kids and a shitty failure of a pizzeria?

I’ll just grab the jar of coins and envelope of money we’ve been saving for a rainy day. That’ll get me away from here, away from them, away from all of this shit. I’ll start over. I’ll pretend they don’t exist. I’ll live my life and I’ll be better, and they’ll be better off without me.

Come on. Just walk through the living room. You just have to get through the living room and out the door.

Then run.

“Mommy?”

Goddamn him.

“Go back to sleep, Vinnie.”

“What are you doing?”

“Nothing. Go back to sleep.”

“You goin’ on a trip?”

Ignore him. Get to the door and leave.

“Mommy, where are we gonna go?”

“You ain’t goin’ nowhere! Now, go back to fuckin’ sleep!”

He was used to me yelling. He was used to me cursing. But I guess he wasn’t used to me carrying suitcases through the living room and to the door, because he ran for me, grabbed one of the bags, and pulled as hard as his little arms would allow.

“Don’t leave!”

He was crying and I panicked, not wanting him to wake his older brother and sister in the next room.

“Vinnie,” I hissed. “Knock it off now.”

“M-M-Mommy, don’t go! I w-wanna come!”

“You’re gonna wake them up. I swear to God, if you wake them up …”

Go. Just go.

“Mommy! P-Please! I’m-I’m sorry.”

Don’t listen. Just go.

“I-I won’t be sick no more. I won’t puke. I promise. I-I-I …”

The little shit lied and vomited all over himself and the floor at his feet. I was tempted to clean it up, but I

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