Time flies like water

I'd been groomed to be a Hudson wife since I was a kid. At twenty, I married Holden. At twenty-four, I gave birth to our son, Henry. Henry was a lot like Holden, quiet and reserved, not particularly close to me. Every night, Id bring them both a glass of warm milk before bed. But one night, Holden knocked his glass over, and Henry secretly poured his down the drain. Thats when I started to feeldone.

...

When I handed Holden the divorce papers, he frowned, annoyed. "All this, over that?"

"Yeah," I said, "all this, over that."

"What about Henry?" he asked, his face settling back into its usual impassiveness, all business. "What are you planning to do about our son?"

I sat across from him, feeling like a guest at his negotiating table. "I'm giving up custody," I said calmly. "I'm also transferring the house on Elm Street to his name. Consider it compensation for child support." He was a Hudson, after all. He belonged with Holden more than he ever belonged with me.

Holden looked down at me, his eyes unreadable. Like he couldn't comprehend why I was making such a fuss. "Amelia," he said, his voice softening, "If it's about the milk, I apologize. You know I was drunk last night. I didn't mean to do that." He kept explaining patiently, convinced that the spilled milk was the root of the problem.

He'd come home late from a work dinner. I'd been dozing on the couch, woken by the draft of cold air he brought in with him.

I got up, saw him taking off his jacket and rubbing his forehead, and immediately went to the kitchen to get the milk Id kept warm for him. We werent exactly lovey-dovey, but we maintained a civil facade. But last night, I'd asked, "Who were you with? That perfume smells familiar."

That's when hed let go of the glass. I hadn't reacted fast enough. It slipped through my fingers, shattering on the floor, the sound echoing in the warm light of the room, shattering the quiet too. Holden's face hardened. He looked at me coldly and said, "Amelia, you're crossing a line. Don't wait up for me anymore. And you don't need to bring me milk."

And Henry, after seeing his fathers reaction, had secretly poured his own milk away. When I caught him, he stood in the doorway, apologizing with the same lack of emotion. "Sorry, Mom. Dad didn't want his, so I didn't want mine either."

To them, father and son, it was a trivial incident. And I wasnt supposed to make a big deal out of it.

I didn't bother explaining further. I signed the papers, hired a lawyer, and ended it.

Holden talked about asset division, but I barely listened. I went upstairs to pack. He watched me. "Amelia, the paperwork takes time. You dont have to rush out. You can keep the house."

I looked at him, this calm, detached man. I used his own words against him. "It's best to be clean and quick about these things. Avoid loose ends."

He didn't say anything else.

Packing was harder than Id thought. The house was full of little things, each one a memory, placed there by me. I looked around, then grabbed a suitcase and walked out.

Holden stopped me. "Where are you going? Your parents'? I'll have the driver take you."

"No," I said. "Have the housekeeper clear out my things tomorrow. I won't bother." It wasnt like they needed me to lift a finger around here.

At the door, I paused and turned to Henry, who stood behind Holden, his face still expressionless. "I won't be picking you up from preschool anymore. Don't go with strangers." It was my last act of motherhood.

I left without another look at the child Id held in my arms, night after night, soothing him through teething pains.

I bought a one-way ticket to Charleston, South Carolina. I'd been restricted since I was fourteen, told I was going to be a Hudson wife. Then I married Holden, and besides the occasional mandatory social event, he never took me anywhere. My life revolved around waiting for them to come home and bringing them warm milk.

People said Holden's mother had trained me well. The perfect wife for Holden. Suitable for his status, capable of taking care of him. My only flaw? I was too perfect. Boring. Stiff. I'd overheard his friends teasing him. "Holden, what's it like living like an old married couple at your age? Your wife is soblah. She smiles like a Stepford wife. Want us to introduce you to someonefun? Like, remember Vivian?"

Vivian. Holdens first love. His mother hadnt approved. Hed fought for her, but thensomething happened. They broke up. Vivian moved to Europe. And then, when I was twenty, Holden suddenly accepted his family's arrangement and proposed to me. Four years later, Henry was born.

Oh, right. I remembered. The familiar perfume that night. It was Vivians signature scent. Gardenia.

I settled into Charleston, exploring the city. The gentle rain, the cobblestone streets, it was all a welcome change. Then, on the third morning, Holden called. He sounded like he'd just woken up. "Amelia," he mumbled, "Where are those ruby cufflinks you got me for the auction last year?"

"Top drawer, second cabinet in the closet," I said automatically. Then, "What's the occasion?"

"A ribbon-cutting ceremony."

"Matching suit is fourth hanger, second row."

He rummaged around, muttering to himself. I waited. "Find them?" I asked.

Silence. He finally seemed to register who he was talking to. "Yeah. Sorry. Didn't mean to bother you."

"I know," I said. "Have the housekeeper reorganize. Ask them if you cant find something. Anddon't call me again."

He paused. "Okay."

I hung up, blocked his number, and went back to sleep. But it was restless sleep, filled with strange dreams. Laughing with friends in high school. Meeting Holden on a sunny day. The pain of a broken leg after my dad caught me street racing. And

The ringing phone jerked awake. Annoyed, I grabbed it. An unknown number.

"Hello, is this Henry Hudson's mother? This is his preschool teacher. We're having a robotics showcase today, and Henry said you were helping him with his project, but he didn't bring it. Would you be able to bring it to him?"

The teacher was very polite. I tightened my grip on the phone, a wave of exhaustion washing over me. Just a few days ago, Id been sitting in the living room, painstakingly following online tutorials, building Henry's robot. Id left so abruptly, it was only half-finished.

I looked out the window at the bright sun. "I'm sorry," I said quietly. "I no longer have custody of Henry. I won't be involved in his life anymore. Is heis he there with you?"

"Oh, yes, he is. Hes right here."

"Could you put me on speakerphone?"

"Certainly."

There was a fumbling sound, then silence. Henry could hear me.

"Henry," I said softly. "The robot is in your toy box, in your room. You can call your dad to bring it, or anyone else. But please, dont call me again. I wont be picking you up, and I wont be making your projects anymore. Im not your mother anymore."

I apologized to the teacher again and hung up.

It hurt to say those words to my own son, the child Id carried for nine months. I couldn't remember when Henry had started becoming so much like his father.

My marriage to Holden had been arranged. From the time I was fourteen, after my grandfather and father emerged from a meeting with the Hudsons, smiling, I was raised to be a Hudson wife. My classmates envied my privileged life. I never corrected them. I had everything but freedom.

I didnt do well on my entrance exams. My mother woke me up in the middle of the night, furious, slapped me across the face for embarrassing her. In high school, I rebelled, dated a boy. My father delivered the matching slap, reminding me that if I didnt marry a Hudson, Id marry someone twenty years my senior.

Id first met Holden when I was fifteen, a pre-arranged meeting. He wasnt like he was now. He smiled, showed emotion. I barely remembered him. A white shirt against a blue sky. Expressive eyes.

Then came the stories of him fighting with his family over Vivian. I admired him, envied his defiance. He had the right to refuse.

But soon after, Holden's mother visited, a polite, apologetic smile on her face. She took my mother's hand and said, "Don't worry, dear. The Holden situation isresolved." Id listened from the doorway, my heart sinking. Just as Id expected.

Then came the orchestrated meetings with Holden. He was resistant at first, cold towards me. Then, he began to accept it, occasionally speaking to me. I watched him transform from a prickly teenager into a quiet, reserved man, all emotion carefully masked. And the gardenia scent faded with time.

When I was twenty, and Holden twenty-four, we were driving to a gala in Charlotte when a landslide trapped us in our car. We were buried for a day and a night. My last memory before being rescued was Holden shielding me, his arm pierced and bloody from the crushed metal. He proposed when I woke up. In front of both our families. "Amelia," hed asked, "Will you marry me?"

Id looked at his bandaged arm, remembered him calling my name in the darkness, urging me to stay awake. "Don't sleep, Amelia. If you sleep now, you'll really lose your freedom." Id placed my hand in his, ignoring the stillness in his eyes, the sense that he was performing a duty.

We got married. Four years later, we had Henry, a child welcomed by both families. Holdens mother believed in elite education, just like Holden had received. So Henry poured his milk away, echoing his father, apologizing with an innocent face, doing what he thought was right.

I didnt know what they were thinking.

A week later, Holden called again. From a different number. I'd blocked him. This wasnt like him, this persistence.

He was silent for a few seconds. I was about to hang up when he spoke. "Amelia," he said, "Your parents said you haven't gone home. Are youare you in Charleston?"

Hed tracked me. I knew he could. But a strange anger surged through me. For nine years, hed been distant, detached, a stranger in my own home. Now, in two weeks, hed called me more times than he had in the past year. I used to send him texts: Will you be home for dinner? Are you in a meeting? Is your stomach still bothering you? Should I bring you some soup? Hed reply with a single, noncommittal: Yeah. And the rest was a string of unanswered messages.

Now, he acted like nothing had changed. His voice was rough. "Amelia, I have a work dinner tonight. My stomach is acting up. Where do you keep the antacids? And Henry caught a cold at preschool. He has a fever of 100.4, and hes really fussy. What did you usually do to make him feel better?"

I snapped. I tried to keep my voice even, not wanting to sound hysterical. "Holden," I said, each word precise, "were divorced. I'm not your wife. I'm not your housekeeper. Whether your stomach hurts or you can't find your medicine is not my concern. And you have plenty of people who can buy you antacids if you ask. Your son is sick. Telling me won't help. I'm not a doctor, and Ive never heard of a father asking his ex-wife what to do in this situation. I dont know what youre doing. Maybe its pride. Maybe youre just used to me taking care of you. But Holden, I don't want to be cruel, but were over. Stop contacting me. Do you understand?"

I hung up, pulled out the SIM card from my phone, and tossed it in the trash.