“Jonathan,” she said.
My father did not answer. His eyes were fixed on the empty bassinet, on the little blanket where Samuel had been sleeping minutes ago.
Mara, bleeding from her temple, tried to stand. “There were two of them,” she said hoarsely. “One came through the service stair. The other cut the nursery cameras. I got Leo and Noah into the wardrobe, but Samuel was closest to the window.”
“The window?” my mother whispered.
The nursery window was open.
Cold air moved the curtains like ghostly hands.
My knees nearly gave out again. “They took my baby through the window?”
Mara’s face twisted. “I’m sorry.”
I looked at my father.
For the first time in my life, Jonathan Ashford looked afraid.
Not worried. Not angry. Afraid.
And that broke something in me.
“No,” I said.
Everyone turned.
“No more standing around. No more secrets. No more protecting me from the truth while my child disappears into the night.” My voice shook, but it did not break. “You are going to tell me everything. Now.”
