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.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
It was Jennifer’s.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
My knees nearly gave out.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Mom,<\/p>\n\n\n\n
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.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I pressed a hand over my mouth to stop the sound that escaped me. The baby\u2014Noah\u2014blinked up at me with wide, solemn eyes, as if he already understood that the world had just shifted beneath my feet.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Continue reading on next page\u2026<\/p>\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n
Please don’t try to find me. Not yet. I know that’s a terrible thing to ask after everything. But if I’ve learned anything in the last five years, it’s that some people will do anything to keep secrets buried. Noah isn’t safe with me right now. He will be safe with you.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Tears blurred the rest of the words. I wiped them away with trembling fingers and kept reading.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I never meant to disappear. The night I left, I thought I was only running away for a few days. I was scared, angry, and convinced I could handle everything on my own. I was wrong. By the time I realized how badly things had gone, I was too deep in a situation I didn’t know how to escape.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
But I never stopped thinking about you. Not for one day.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I looked down at Noah. A tiny fist had worked its way free from the blanket. He grabbed my finger with surprising strength.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
There was more.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Someone is looking for him. If anyone asks questions, say you found him exactly as you did. Trust no one who claims to know where I am\u2014not even if they seem convincing. Especially not a man named Marcus Hale.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
My pulse thundered in my ears.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
At the bottom of the note, beneath a smear that looked like it had been made by tears, Jennifer had written one final line.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I’ll come back for him when it’s safe. Until then, love him enough for both of us.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I sank into the kitchen chair, clutching the note in one hand and Noah in the other. For five years, I had imagined every possible explanation for Jennifer’s disappearance. None of them had prepared me for this.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
My daughter was alive.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
And she was in trouble.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Noah let out a soft sigh and nestled against my chest, as if he’d been waiting his whole life to be held there. I kissed the top of his head, breathing in the sweet scent of baby shampoo and morning air.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Then the doorbell rang.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I froze.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Nobody visited this early.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The bell rang again, longer this time.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Noah stirred.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Heart pounding, I laid him gently in his basket and walked to the front window. A black sedan idled at the curb. Standing on my porch was a man in a charcoal coat, his hands clasped neatly in front of him.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
He looked up, as if he sensed me watching.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Then he smiled.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“Mrs. Carter,” he called through the door, his voice calm and polished. “My name is Marcus Hale. I believe you have something that belongs to me.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
The note was written on lined paper, folded so many times the edges were soft and worn. I recognized the…<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":4,"featured_media":18747,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-18746","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-story"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/tbdig.com\/sirbenet\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/18746","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/tbdig.com\/sirbenet\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/tbdig.com\/sirbenet\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/tbdig.com\/sirbenet\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/4"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/tbdig.com\/sirbenet\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=18746"}],"version-history":[{"count":2,"href":"https:\/\/tbdig.com\/sirbenet\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/18746\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":18749,"href":"https:\/\/tbdig.com\/sirbenet\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/18746\/revisions\/18749"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/tbdig.com\/sirbenet\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/18747"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/tbdig.com\/sirbenet\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=18746"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/tbdig.com\/sirbenet\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=18746"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/tbdig.com\/sirbenet\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=18746"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}