THE NAME ON HANNAH’S LETTER BELONGED TO THE PERSON I TRUSTED MOST

I read the name again.

I wished it would change.

It didn’t.

My brother.

Michael Ashford.

My own brother.

The man who had stood beside me when I buried our father.

The man who had helped me build Ashford Holdings.

The man who had told me, six years ago, that Hannah had walked away because she wanted nothing to do with our family.

I stared at the paper.

My hands were completely still now.

Too still.

“Dad?”

Eli’s voice pulled me back.

I looked at him.

“Are you okay?”

I folded the letter.

“No.”

He lowered his eyes.

I crouched beside him.

“But I’m going to be.”

Sam shuffled closer, still clutching the stuffed fox.

I looked at both boys.

“My sons.”

The words felt strange.

Beautiful.

Terrifying.

My sons.

I had missed their first steps.

Their first birthdays.

Their first day of school.

Every fever.

Every nightmare.

Every morning they woke up believing their father was somewhere else.

And someone had made sure I stayed away.

I picked up another envelope.

This one had been returned five years earlier.

Across the front, Hannah had written:

Please. I’m not asking for money. I just want him to know about his children.

My chest тιԍнтened.

She hadn’t wanted my money.

She hadn’t wanted revenge.

She had wanted me to know.

I stood.

“Lauren.”

She entered immediately.

“Yes?”

“Bring me every record of incoming mail from six years ago.”

Her expression changed.

“Every record?”

“Every envelope. Every delivery log. Every person who handled them.”

She nodded.

“And don’t tell Michael.”

Lauren froze.

“You think—”

“I know.”

I turned toward the boys.

“Where is your mother?”

Eli’s face changed.

“She told us not to tell anyone.”

“I’m not anyone.”

He looked at me.

“She said someone might be watching.”

A chill moved down my back.

“Did she say where she was going?”

Eli shook his head.

“She gave us this.”

He reached into his backpack again.

This time he pulled out a small key.

There was a number engraved on it.

317.

“What is this?”

“Mom said you would know.”

I stared at the key.

I didn’t.

But there was something about it that bothered me.

A memory surfaced.

An old storage facility.

A place my father had owned before he died.

Unit 317.

My pulse quickened.

I looked at the date on Hannah’s final letter.

It had been written only two days earlier.

I turned the page over.

There was something written on the back.

If I’m not there when they reach you, go to 317.

I stared at the words.

Hannah had known she might disappear.

She had prepared for it.

And she’d trusted our children to find me.

My phone suddenly rang.

Unknown number.

I answered.

“Hello?”

Nothing.

Only breathing.

Then a man’s voice.

Low.

Calm.

“You should stop looking for Hannah.”

Every muscle in my body тιԍнтened.

“Who is this?”

A pause.

“You’ve already lost six years.”

I looked at Eli and Sam.

The voice continued.

“Don’t lose your sons too.”

The call ended.

For several seconds, I stood completely still.

Then I handed the phone to Lauren.

“Trace it.”

She hurried away.

I looked down at my sons.

Sam had moved closer to Eli.

Both boys were watching me.

I knelt.

“Listen carefully.”

Eli nodded.

“Whatever happens next, you’re staying with me.”

“But Mom—”

“We’re going to find her.”

I looked at the key in my palm.

“And we’re going to find out who kept us apart.”

That night, I drove toward the old storage facility with my two sons beside me.

Unit 317 was waiting at the end of a dark corridor.

The lock was already broken.

I stopped.

Someone had beaten us there.

I pushed the door open.

Inside was a small table.

A cardboard box.

And dozens of pH๏τographs.

PH๏τographs of Hannah.

PH๏τographs of Eli.

PH๏τographs of Sam.

But the last pH๏τograph on the table made my blood run cold.

It had been taken that morning.

My sons were standing beside me in the lobby.

Someone had been watching us.

On the back of the pH๏τograph were six words:

YOU SHOULD HAVE LEFT THEM ALONE.

I slowly raised my eyes toward the dark corridor.

Then I heard footsteps behind us.

And this time—

I knew exactly who they belonged to.