This used to be our thing. “Honesty?” we’d ask when either of us wasn’t sure how to articulate something we wanted to say. We’d have to drop whatever we were doing to listen. They were our naked moments where the other person couldn’t get defensive. It had pushed our relationship toward an amazing trajectory of honesty and openness. Even though we weren’t together, I needed that from him now. I nod, afraid of what he’s going to say but also somehow knowing.

“I’m not sure if I believe you.”

The words hurt more than I’d anticipated. My eyes water, and I adjust my sunglasses and clear my throat to keep the tears at bay.

“I want to believe you. And the ex-boyfriend in me does believe you. You know that. I’d follow you to the ends of the earth—would have followed you,” he quickly corrects. “But the cop in me says that the evidence just isn’t there. There’s too much that doesn’t add up. There are so many things mounted against you, Bec, and it’s not your fault. It’s just fact. And I’m trained to look at facts.”

“And the facts don’t look good,” I murmur. “I get it. I do.” I form my next words carefully. “While I appreciate you agreeing to help, I’m not going to waste any more of your time, Jake. You have real cases to solve. I’ve pulled you away from your life enough.” What I really mean is: I will find another way. What I can’t do is spend one more minute with someone who doesn’t really believe me. I don’t want any favors. I don’t want anyone’s sympathy or pity. I want to find my son.

“You can’t get rid of me that easily, Bec.”

“Watch me.” I open the door of the idling car and remove the baby from the back seat.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m going to go see Dr. Gibbons for an emergency therapy session,” I say. “Maybe she can help.” To confirm, I ramble off a manic voice text to see if she’s free.

“And how will you get home?”

“Train.”

“Rebecca.” Jake kills the engine and gets out of the car. “You’re not going anywhere without me.” He grips my elbow and I yank it free.

“I want to be alone right now. I just need space.”

He’s confused. I can feel it. Last night, I begged him to help. I had him lie to a police officer. I almost kissed him and then pretended it was all fine. And now, I’m insisting I’m going to do it on my own. But in this case, my stubbornness—easily one of my worst traits—will lead me to my son. I’m sure of it.