My heart sank.
“What?”
Grace reached into her jacket pocket.
She pulled out a small envelope.
“I found this in the basement too.”
I stared at it.
There was no name on the front.
Only a handwritten date.
The date was exactly one week before my son and his wife died.
I opened it.
Inside was a single photograph.
My son and his wife were standing outside a restaurant.
But they weren’t alone.
Behind them stood a third person.
I recognized him immediately.
My hands began to shake.
It was Michael.
But that wasn’t what made my blood run cold.
The photograph had been taken by someone standing across the street.
And written on the back were seven words:
“They know. You need to leave now.”
I looked at Grace.
Then at the photograph.
For ten years, I had raised seven children while believing that the worst thing that had ever happened to our family was a tragic accident.
