Part 2 👇
My mom called me by my childhood nickname. She only does that when she can't speak freely. When I was eight, my mom sat me down and taught me something she called our secret language. If I'm ever in trouble and can't say it directly, I'll call you Bumblebee. That was my baby nickname from before I could talk. She said if I ever heard it after age 10, something was very wrong and I needed to get help without letting anyone know. She made me promise to remember. I promised thinking it was dramatic mom stuff that would never matter. I'm 34 now. My mom hasn't called me Bumblebee in over two decades. So when she FaceTimed me last Sunday with her new boyfriend, Victor, sitting next to her and said, Bumblebee, I just wanted to check in. My entire body went cold. Her voice was cheerful. Her smile was perfect. Victor had his arm around her, grinning at the camera, but she'd used the word. The word that meant something was wrong. The word that meant she couldn't tell me directly. I kept my face neutral and said I was doing great. Asked about her garden, made small talk while my mind raced. Victor had entered my mom's life four months ago. Charming, retired, wealthy. He'd swept her off her feet after my dad passed two years ago. At first, I was happy for her. She deserved companionship, but small things started bothering me. She stopped calling as often. When she did, Victor was always there. She'd sold her car because Victor said she didn't need one since he could drive her anywhere. She'd moved into his house after only three months. She'd stopped seeing her friends because Victor planned such wonderful activities for them. I'd mentioned my concerns once, and she'd laughed them off, said I was being overprotective. Victor had chimed in that he just loved her so much he wanted to spend every moment together, but now she was using our
PART 2 👇
grabbed me in a hug so tight I couldn't breathe. When she pulled back, her eyes were wet. She whispered that we had 15 minutes because Victor was in the shower, and then we were supposed to leave for a doctor's appointment. I asked what was happening. She shook her head and glanced toward the stairs. He monitors everything. My phone, my email, the security cameras. He watches me through the house cameras when he's in other rooms. The only reason I could text you to come back here is because this is the one spot without a camera. She talked fast. He'd changed in the last month, controlling at first, then angry, then threatening. He'd taken her ID and credit cards for safekeeping. Her phone was in his name now. He told her children could be cut out of wills for abandonment if they didn't visit enough, convincing her I wouldn't get her inheritance if she left him. He'd taken her ID and credit cards for safekeeping. Her phone was in his name now. He told her children could be cut out of wills for abandonment if they didn't visit enough. Convincing her I wouldn't get her inheritance if she left him. He'd isolated her from everyone. Last week she tried to call her sister and he'd grabbed the phone and thrown it against the wall. Then he'd apologized for two hours, crying. Saying he just loved her too much. But she'd seen his face when he threw it. That wasn't love. That was rage. She'd remembered our code and used it the first chance she got. Praying I'd remember what Bumblebee meant. I told her we were leaving right now. She shook her head, panicking. My medication is upstairs. My mother's ring is in his safe. Everything I have is here. I grabbed her hands. We can replace things. We can't replace you. I heard her head, panicking. My medication is upstairs. My mother's ring is in his safe. Everything I have is here. I grabbed her hands. We can replace things. We can't replace you. I heard the shower turn off upstairs. Her face went white. We had maybe three minutes. I pulled her toward the back door. She resisted for one second and followed. We moved fast across the backyard toward my car. I didn't look back. I could hear Victor's voice calling her name from inside the house. Confused at first, then angry. We got in the car and I locked the doors just as he appeared on the back porch.
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