Chapter 2
I moved Noah beside the fireplace.
Blanket.
Warm socks.
Soup.
Nothing else mattered until his body stopped shaking.
Mark tried to follow.
I pointed toward the other side of the room.
“Stay there.”
He did.
Good.
Noah ate slowly.
Then hid half a dinner roll beneath the blanket.
I saw it.
Said nothing.
That would matter later.
For now, the airplane.
I examined it beneath the lamp.
Hand-carved fuselage.
Uneven edges.
A child had clearly helped sand it.
But the joints were too clean for a three-year-old.
Grace’s initials were burned beneath one wing.
Then I noticed something else.
A thin seam along the bottom.
I pressed gently.
A small wooden panel shifted.
Inside was a folded strip of paper.
Mark moved.
Salvatore blocked him.
I unfolded it.
Richard,
If Noah gets this to you, Mark has not changed.
My vision narrowed.
Grace’s handwriting.
I remembered it from Christmas cards.
The note continued.
He told you I left willingly.
He told me you agreed Noah should stay with him.
Neither is true.
I looked at my son.
His face had lost all color.
There was one final line.
I’m ten miles from the lodge. I’ve been trying to reach my child for eight months.
Claudia whispered:
“She’s unstable.”
I turned toward her.
“Interesting.”
Then:
“You knew where she was.”
No answer.
I looked at Mark.
“Did you?”
His jaw tightened.
“Yes.”
One word.
Enough.
May you like
Noah had not been punished for disobedience.
He had been punished for remembering the woman Mark had been trying to erase.
