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.”

“Caleb showed me.”

Aaron’s voice sharpened.

“Owen, don’t.”

My son flinched.

I felt anger rush through me.

“Don’t speak to him.”

Aaron stopped.

Then he looked at me.

“Rachel, if you take those papers out of here, I can’t protect Caleb.”

I stared at him.

“From whom?”

His face hardened.

“From the person who has him.”

Owen pulled at my sleeve.

“Mom. Now.”

I looked toward the darkness.

Then made the only decision I could.

I took my children’s hands.

And ran.

***

The passage was narrow.

It had once been a drainage access beneath the cabin’s foundation.

Ben used to joke that the old building contained more tunnels than a castle.

I thought he was exaggerating.

But Owen moved through the darkness as though he knew every inch.

Hannah crawled behind him.

Lucy followed.

I came last, carrying the folder against my chest.

Above us, Aaron shouted our names.

Then came another voice.