I came home in uniform with our one-year-old—my husband accused me with a DNA test and threw us out, until one call and the truth on his laptop exposed the plan he never thought I’d see
me of running away; by midnight, he insisted I had misunderstood everything.
The next morning, I returned to the house to collect Maisie’s clothes and medicine. No one was there, but Peter had left his laptop open. As I folded her tiny pajamas, a message appeared in the corner of the screen.
