Grabbing the baby monitor, I go down to her art room. I spend the rest of the night tearing it apart, looking for clues as to where she would go. But all I find is her art—drawings of flowers and fruits and toys, pictures and wood carvings, a picture of Sonia and Brooke having tea coffee at their favorite café in town.

Sonia. Sonia came over yesterday, and I have a feeling in my gut that she knows where Brooke went.

I head upstairs to prepare Cahal bottle. It is almost six a.m., his usual wake time. Mrs. Fanny should be in for work soon and can babysit while I have a little chat with Sonia.

Two hours later, I find myself pounding on Sonia’s apartment door. Sonia answers the door almost immediately. She is dressed and appears to have been up for a couple hours.

“Good morning. Mind if I come in?” I snark before pushing past her, not waiting for a response.

Sonia’s apartment is nice, decorated in cool tones with a modern chic look. I sit on her baby blue couch and stare at the coffee and tea tray on the coffee table—set for two.

“You knew I was going to come over,” I accuse her. She shrugs.

“Where is she, Sonia? I know you know,” I demand.

“I don’t know,” she says calmly, keeping her voice low.

“Yes, you do.”

“I don’t know where she is,” she says again.

I study her, her eyes bruised from lack of sleep, guilt pouring out of her. “You knew she was going to leave.”

She nods.

I jump up from the couch, furious. “Why didn’t you tell me? I could have stopped her. Why didn’t you stop her?” I shout.

“Keep your voice down, Landon! I have neighbors,” she snaps.

“I don’t give a damn about your neighbors. I want to know where my wife is!”

Sonia does not say anything, just waits for me to calm down. I pace the floor for a few minutes, tugging on my hair before I sit down on the couch.

“She was happy. We were happy. Or at least I thought she was. Am I just an idiot who could not see how miserable she was? Did she hate me that much? Resent me, the contract? Did she think the contract still bothered me?”

Sonia looks at me with sad eyes. “No, that’s not why she left.”

“Then why?” I croak out.

“I don’t know why she left, or where she went. But I do know that she loves you and Cahal very much. I do not know your story. Why you got married or why you acted like strangers when I first met her. She didn’t share that with me.”

We lapse into silence again. I mull her words over. “You really don’t know where she is?”