My heart broke.
Then Michael leaned toward the camera.
“Rachel, you have until midnight.”
He smiled faintly.
“After that, you’ll need to decide which part of your family you want to save.”
The screen went black.
I sat frozen.
My phone still in my hand.
My youngest son asleep beside me.
My daughters only a few feet away.
And somewhere, my husband and oldest son were alive.
Waiting.
Trapped.
Terrified.
Then one final message arrived.
It wasn’t from Michael.
It came from an unfamiliar number.
A photograph.
An old document.
At the top were the words:
**ORIGINAL TRANSPORT AGREEMENT — FIVE YEARS AGO.**
I stared at it.
Two names appeared beneath the authorization line.
**MICHAEL MORGAN.**
And another.
A name I recognized immediately.
A name that made me feel as though the floor had disappeared beneath my feet.
**BENJAMIN MORGAN.**
My husband.
I read the document again.
Then noticed the date.
