Part 2: My husband and our three sons d!ed during a storm on their guys’ trip — five years later, my youngest daughter came to me and said, “Mom, I know what really happened that day. The police officer lied to you.”

“What?”

My son stared at Michael.

His face had gone white.

“Mom, don’t go with him.”

***

Michael hurried toward us.

He looked older than I remembered.

Gray at the temples.

Exhausted.

When he saw Owen, he stopped so abruptly that his boots slid on the gravel.

“Owen?”

His voice broke.

“My God.”

He took a step forward.

Owen moved behind me.

Michael’s eyes filled.

“You’re alive.”

I stared at him.

There was something strange about his reaction.

It looked like shock.

But Owen was trembling.

“Mom, please.”

I turned toward Michael.

“How did you know where we were?”

He looked confused.

“You said you were going to the cabin.”

I frowned.

I’d told him about Ben’s note.

But I hadn’t told him I was taking the girls there that afternoon.

Michael swallowed.

“Rachel, we can talk later. Get in my truck.”

Owen shook his head desperately.

“No.”

I looked at my son.