For two decades, I mourned my missing wife and daughters, until my son tore open a basement wall and found the chilling truth she hid from me.
“The one Mom always told you not to touch, remember?”
“There’s a date written on it. The night before… before they disappeared.”
My throat went dry.
“Adam, are you sure?”
“Look at her handwriting, Dad. That’s Mom’s. I know it is.”
Ethan came down the stairs behind me, drawn by the noise.
“What’s going on down here? You both look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
