I pulled it out and opened it under the dim overhead bulb. Inside were two new passports with photos of my husband and Owen under completely different names, along with flight itineraries booked for a country halfway across the world, scheduled for three days from now. Owen wasn’t gone. He was being kept somewhere, waiting for his father to finalize the escape plan.
A floorboard creaked directly above my head. The heavy sound of footsteps echoed through the ceiling, heading slowly down the basement stairs. My breath hitched as I shoved the folder back into the wall and stepped into the shadows behind the furnace, clutching Owen’s letter tightly against my chest, ready to confront the man I thought I knew.
