Grant’s eyes locked onto mine. “Agreed.”

Vanessa stood. “If he sees you leaving early, he’ll know something is wrong.”

“Then let him know.”

I moved toward the study door.

Grant followed.

Vanessa called out behind us. “You don’t understand. Thomas doesn’t get angry. Thomas gets patient. He’ll just wait and try again.”

I turned back to her.

“Then it’s a good thing I’ve spent ten years getting patient too.”

The children were in the kitchen.

Emma was still laughing at something Margaret had said.

Noah was showing Luke a picture on his phone.

Ethan was standing by the window, looking out at the driveway.

I noticed that.

“Ethan.”

He turned.

“Yeah, Mom?”

“Is everything okay?”

He hesitated.

Then he shrugged.

“Just thought I saw someone standing by the trees earlier. Probably a bird watcher or something.”

My heart stopped.

“Where?”

He pointed toward the far side of the property, near the oak grove.

“There was a man in a gray jacket. He was just standing there. Then he walked into the trees and didn’t come back.”

I kept my face calm.

“It’s probably someone from the funeral,” I said.

Ethan nodded, but I saw the doubt in his eyes.

He was old enough to sense when something was wrong.

I just wasn’t sure what he had seen.

Grant appeared behind me.

“Company’s here.”

I looked at him.

“Who?”

“The police. I called them while you were in the kitchen. I told them about Thomas.”

I blinked.

“You called the police?”

“For once, Savannah, I’m trying to do the right thing.”

The drive back to the hotel was quiet.

The children were tired. Rose fell asleep against Emma’s shoulder. Noah kept his earbuds in, staring out the window.

Ethan sat in the front seat beside me.

He hadn’t spoken since we left the Whitmore house.

“Ethan.”

“Yeah?”

“What did the man in the gray jacket look like?”

He turned toward me.

“Tall. Older. Gray hair.”

My grip tightened on the steering wheel.

“Did you see his face?”

“Not really. He was too far away. But there was something on his hand.”

“What?”

“A scar,” Ethan said. “On his left hand. It went from his wrist to his knuckles. I saw it when he lowered his binoculars.”

The description matched William’s recording almost exactly.

Pale eyes.

A scar on his left hand.

Thomas.

I pulled into the hotel parking lot and parked beneath the brightest light I could find.

The police officer assigned to us met us at the door.

A detective named Mara Collins.

She was in her forties, with sharp eyes and a calm voice that seemed impossible to rattle.

I told her what Ethan had seen.

She wrote it down.

“Did anyone approach you today?”

“No.”

“Receive any messages?”

“No.”

She looked up.

“The good news is he doesn’t know where you’re staying yet.”

“You don’t know that.”

“No,” she admitted. “But we’ll have officers watching the hotel tonight. I need you to stay inside. Do not open the door for anyone you don’t know.”

I nodded.

The children settled in the room.

I stood by the window, watching the parking lot.

Grant had followed us to the hotel.

He was downstairs in the lobby, talking to another officer. I hadn’t invited him up.

I didn’t know where to start with Grant.

The truth about Thomas didn’t erase the ten years of silence.

But it changed the shape of what had happened.

Grant hadn’t just refused to believe me.

He had been manipulated by a man who had been planning our destruction for years.

And I had carried the weight of that destruction alone.

A quiet knock on the door.

I looked through the peephole.

Grant stood in the hallway.

I opened the door.

“I thought you were in the lobby.”

“I thought I should tell you in person.”

“What?”

He held up a folded piece of paper.

“An officer found this taped to my car in the Whitmore driveway. It was already there when I drove to the hotel.”

I stepped back to let him in.

“Read it,” he said.

I unfolded the paper.

The handwriting was neat. Precise. Almost elegant.

“Grant,

You think you’re protecting her. You think bringing the police will keep her and the children safe. You were never able to keep her. She was mine from the moment I saw her. And when this is over, she’ll finally see that.

— T.”

I read it twice.

Then I read it a third time, because the words didn’t feel real.

“He was watching the whole time,” I said.

Grant was pale. “He was standing at the edge of the woods with binoculars. He watched me get in my car. He followed me to the hotel.”

“Did the officers see him?”

“No. He’s careful.”

I moved away from Grant, pressing my fingers against my forehead.