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.”

My heart pounded.

“Where?”

“An abandoned rehabilitation center outside Fairhaven.”

I stared at her.

“Is Caleb there?”

“We don’t know.”

She continued.

“But there are indications the site was used recently.”

I sat down.

Then asked the question I’d been afraid to speak.

“Could Ben be there?”

Ellis hesitated.

“It’s possible. We need to investigate.”

I covered my mouth.

For five years, I’d grieved a husband I couldn’t bury.

Now I didn’t know whether to mourn him.

Or wait for him.

***

That night, I stayed awake beside Owen.

He’d fallen asleep with his head against my shoulder.

Lucy slept in a chair.

Hannah rested on the other couch.

For the first time in five years, I could hear all three of my living children breathing in the same room.

I closed my eyes.

Then my phone vibrated.

Unknown number.

A photograph appeared.

It showed Caleb standing outside a warehouse.

The date stamp was from that morning.