I told Miles that Hannah and I were spending the night visiting an old friend.
Claire stayed with Sophie and our other daughters, who had been told only that we were looking into family documents.
I hated keeping secrets from them.
But I no longer knew how far Miles’s influence reached.
Bluebird Cottage looked almost exactly as I remembered.
Its painted walls had faded.
The porch railing had been replaced.
But the lake still shimmered beyond the trees.
I stood at the front gate, overwhelmed by memory.
Grant laughing as he carried our luggage.
The smell of pine.
His hand around mine.
The promise that we would grow old together.
Hannah squeezed my shoulder.
“Ready?”
I nodded.
We searched the cottage first.
Nothing.
No hidden compartments.
No boxes.
No loose floorboards.
Then we went beneath the porch.
The wooden bench was gone.
My heart sank.
But Hannah noticed six concrete steps descending toward the lake.
