Chapter 5

I blotted the soaked cream pages with a hotel towel while our daughter lined her wet shoes beneath the desk. I had pulled the notebook from under the tire before driving us here. Mud stained its navy cover. Water had reached the black stitched spine, but the wedding-night inscription remained clear.

Someone struck the door hard enough to shake the chain.

My husband Michael called my name from the hall. “Erica, open this door.”

Our daughter stopped threading a shoelace through her fingers. She looked from the door to me.

“How did he find us?”

“I don’t know.” I folded…