Chapter 11 - Mr. Buttons Goes Missing
Emma stopped asking about Damian after three days.
That was worse.
On the first day, she asked twelve times.
On the second, six.
On the third, twice.
On the fourth, she said nothing.
Claire watched her daughter eat pancakes silently.
“You okay?”
“Yes.”
“Missing somebody?”
“No.”
Mr. Buttons sat beside the plate.
Claire sighed.
“Emma.”
“What?”
“You can be angry.”
“I’m not.”
“You can be sad.”
“I’m not.”
Children learned denial quickly.
Too quickly.
“Daddy said he’d come back.”
Claire’s chest tightened.
“He wanted to.”
“You told him not to?”
Emma looked directly at her.
Claire refused to lie.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because I needed to know something important.”
“Do you know now?”
“No.”
Emma pushed the plate away.
“Then that’s dumb.”
She climbed down.
Claire let her go.
Nora watched from the counter.
“She’s right.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
“I was being sarcastic.”
“I wasn’t.”
Claire rubbed her forehead.
Evidence against Damian looked terrible.
Anthony had provided messages.
Payment records.
Instructions allegedly approved through Damian’s credentials.
But something bothered Claire.
Damian’s behavior.
If he had staged everything, why voluntarily involve Mercer?
Why federal counsel?
Why surrender parts of his business?
Most importantly, why leave when Claire asked?
Manipulators hated losing control.
Damian had given it up.
At noon, Mercer arrived.
“We found something.”
Claire’s stomach tightened.
“Good or bad?”
“Good for Damian.”
He showed her a report.
The café-fire suspect had been arrested near Boston.
Phone records connected him to Victor’s assistant.
Not Damian.
Claire sat.
“Anthony lied.”
“Looks that way.”
“Does Damian know?”
“Probably.”
Claire reached for her phone.
Stopped.
He had respected her boundary.
Now she needed to cross it herself.
Before she could call, Nora yelled.
“Claire!”
Emma was gone.
The back door stood open.
Mr. Buttons remained on the floor.
Claire’s blood froze.
“Emma?”
No answer.
They searched upstairs.
Bathroom.
Storage room.
Alley.
Nothing.
Claire called Mercer.
Within ten minutes half the town was looking.
Cold rain began.
Claire stood outside screaming Emma’s name until her throat hurt.
Then she called Damian.
He answered immediately.
“Claire?”
“Emma’s missing.”
Silence.
Then movement.
“What happened?”
“I don’t know.”
“When?”
“Twenty minutes.”
“Police?”
“Searching.”
“Mr. Buttons?”
“What?”
“Does she have him?”
Claire looked at the stuffed rabbit.
“No.”
Damian exhaled.
“She wouldn’t go far intentionally without him.”
“You know that?”
“She told me he’s scared of being alone.”
Claire started crying.
“I didn’t know.”
“I’m coming.”
She almost said no.
Instead:
“Hurry.”
Damian was ninety minutes away.
He arrived in fifty-eight.
Mercer shouted at him for driving too fast.
Damian apologized.
Then he joined the search.
No security theatrics.
No shouting commands.
He asked Claire where Emma liked to go.
“The beach. Lighthouse. Bakery.”
Damian thought.
“Shells.”
Claire looked at him.
“What?”
“She gave me a shell on the beach.”
They ran.
Rain hit hard.
Near the boardwalk, Damian saw yellow.
Emma’s raincoat.
She sat beneath the covered lifeguard platform, knees against her chest.
Claire screamed her name.
Emma looked up.
“Mom!”
Claire reached her first.
She collapsed around her daughter.
“What were you thinking?”
Emma cried.
“I wanted to find Daddy’s shell.”
Damian stopped several feet away.
Emma saw him.
Her face changed.
“Daddy!”
She ran.
Damian dropped to his knees.
Emma hit him hard enough to nearly knock him backward.
He wrapped his arms around her.
Claire watched.
Any remaining doubt disappeared.
Maybe Damian had been a terrible husband.
Maybe his past contained things Claire would never accept.
But this man had not staged fear to manipulate her.
The terror on his face was too real.
Emma cried into his coat.
“You didn’t come back.”
Damian closed his eyes.
“I’m sorry.”
“Mom told you not to?”
“Yes.”
Emma glared at Claire over his shoulder.
Claire almost laughed through tears.
“This is not funny.”
“It’s a little funny,” Damian whispered.
She glared at him too.
He stopped.
Back at the café, Emma drank cocoa.
Damian sat nearby.
Claire walked outside.
He followed.
Rain had become mist.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
“For what?”
“Believing Anthony.”
“You had reasons.”
“I should have known.”
“No.”
Damian looked at her.
“You should never have to ‘know’ I’m innocent because you love me.”
Claire froze.
He had said it.
Love.
Neither moved.
Damian continued carefully.
“Trust should come from evidence.”
“You sound like Mercer.”
“He’s annoying but useful.”
Claire laughed.
Then started crying.
Damian stepped closer but did not touch her.
“I was so scared.”
“I know.”
“I thought someone took her because of you.”
“So did I.”
She looked up.
“What happens now?”
“Anthony’s statement collapsed. Victor is under investigation.”
“And you?”
“Still cooperating.”
“Charges?”
“Negotiations.”
“Prison?”
“Less likely.”
Relief appeared on her face.
Damian noticed.
“You care.”
“Of course I care.”
“About Emma’s father?”
Claire knew the question.
Not enough.
“About you.”
Damian stopped breathing.
She stepped closer.
“This does not mean forgiveness.”
“I know.”
“It definitely doesn’t mean marriage.”
“I didn’t ask.”
“You were thinking.”
“I’m always thinking.”
She almost smiled.
“But I care.”
He looked at her like she had handed him oxygen.
Claire raised one finger.
“Do not make me regret saying that.”
“I won’t promise.”
She frowned.
“Why?”
“Because I might fail at something.”
That answer was better than a promise.
Claire nodded.
Inside, Emma pressed her face against the window.
Then she shouted through the glass.
“Are you kissing?”
Both adults jumped apart.
“No!” Claire yelled.
Emma looked disappointed.
Damian laughed.
That night, after Emma was asleep, Claire returned Mr. Buttons to her bed.
She noticed a drawing beneath the pillow.
Three people.
Claire.
Emma.
Damian.
This time Damian had been added in purple crayon.
Above them Emma had drawn one enormous yellow sun.
Claire sat on the edge of the bed.
Four years ago, she had believed protecting Emma meant keeping Damian away forever.
Now she understood protection could not mean controlling every future outcome.
Sometimes children grew toward truths adults were afraid to face.
And Emma was already making room for her father.
May you like
The question was whether Claire could ever make room for Damian too.
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