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.”

But his eyes were the same.

Those beautiful hazel eyes.

He stared at me.

For a moment, neither of us moved.

Then he whispered, “You came.”

I fell to my knees.

“Owen.”

He rushed into my arms.

I held him so tightly that he gasped.

Then I loosened my grip and touched his face.

His hair.

His shoulders.

I couldn’t stop touching him.

He was warm.

Real.

Alive.

My little boy.

I began sobbing.

“I looked for you.”

Owen buried his face against my neck.

“I know.”

“I never stopped.”

His body shook.

“I know, Mom.”

Hannah dropped beside us.

Lucy began crying so hard she couldn’t speak.

For one impossible moment, all four of us clung to each other.

Then Owen lifted his head.

His face changed.

“Mom, we have to leave.”

A floorboard creaked overhead.

Aaron was coming downstairs.

***

“Rachel?”

His voice was closer.

I pulled Owen behind me.