“Are you safe?”
I looked toward my sleeping children.
“No.”
There was a pause.
“Did someone contact you?”
“Yes.”
His breathing changed.
“What did they say?”
I told him.
He was silent for several seconds.
Then he whispered:
“Don’t ask me what happened that night.”
My heart sank.
“Why?”
“Because if I tell you…”
He stopped.
“Alex?”
“I may not be the man you think I am.”
Before I could respond, I heard a crash outside my apartment.
Lily screamed.
I dropped the phone and ran toward the window.
A black SUV was parked across the street.
The headlights suddenly switched on.
And someone stepped out.
A tall man wearing a dark coat looked directly toward my apartment.
Then he raised his hand.
He was holding an old photograph.
Even from the window, I could see what was in it.
It was a picture of me and Alexander at nineteen.
But there was something else in the photograph.
Someone standing behind us.
Someone I recognized immediately.
My mother.
And written across the bottom in red ink were five words:
SHE KNOWS WHERE THE BABY WENT.
