The note was written on lined paper, folded so many times the edges were soft and worn. I recognized the handwriting before I even read the first word.
It was Jennifer’s.
My knees nearly gave out.
Mom,
If you’re reading this, it means I finally found a way to send him somewhere safe. His name is Noah. He’s four months old. And he’s your grandson.
I pressed a hand over my mouth to stop the sound that escaped me. The baby—Noah—blinked up at me with wide, solemn eyes, as if he already understood that the world had just shifted beneath my feet.
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