My pulse pounded.
“Then who wrote it?”
Rebecca’s lips trembled.
“The same person who warned Michael that someone inside his own family had betrayed him.”
I could barely breathe.
“Who?”
Before she could answer, Daniel’s phone rang.
He checked the screen.
His face changed.
“What?” I asked.
He didn’t answer.
“Daniel?”
He slowly turned the phone toward me.
Unknown number.
He answered on speaker.
For several seconds, there was only static.
Then a man’s voice spoke.
Calm.
Older.
Familiar in a way I could not immediately place.
“Margaret?”
I stopped breathing.
The room disappeared around me.
Because I knew that voice.
I had heard it every morning for thirty-four years.
I had heard it whisper beside me in the dark.
I had heard it tell our children bedtime stories.
I had heard it say my name for the last time from a hospital bed six years ago.
It was Michael.
