He didn’t respond.

I switched off the hallway light, then the kitchen, then the living room lamp Caleb always left on. My hands trembled so badly I nearly dropped my phone. Mara stayed on the line, silent except for her breathing.

At the attic stairs, she whispered, “Do not hang up.”

I climbed slowly, each wooden step creaking beneath my bare feet. The attic smelled of dust, insulation, and old holiday boxes. I shut the door behind me and slid the small latch into place.

“Lock it,” Mara said.

“I did.”

“Stay away from the window.”

Then the call dropped.

For one long, awful minute, nothing happened.

Then I heard Caleb’s voice downstairs.

No longer sleepy.

Calm.

“Lights are off,” he said.

Another man answered from inside my house.

“Then she knows.”

My hand flew to my mouth.

Through a narrow gap in the attic floorboards, I could see part of the hallway below. Caleb stood there in sweatpants, my laptop tucked under one arm.

Beside him stood a stranger in a black raincoat.

The stranger handed Caleb a small case.

Caleb opened it, revealing three passports.

One had my husband’s photo.

One had my son’s.

The third had mine.

But none of them carried our names….

Part 2:

I crouched in the attic, dust scratching my throat and fear pressing so tightly against my chest I could barely breathe.

Below me, Caleb set the passports on the hallway table.

The man in the raincoat said, “The Bureau moved faster than expected.”

My stomach sank.

Caleb’s jaw tightened. “How close?”

“Close enough that your wife’s sister may already know.”

My sister.

Mara.

I clutched my phone, praying it would light up again—and praying it wouldn’t make a sound.

Caleb picked up my laptop. “She never checks anything. Even if she saw something, she wouldn’t understand it.”

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