Gregory’s last message appeared while Christopher was still holding my phone, and the three of us were staring at the photograph of my passport, Abigail’s birth certificate, my deed, and a purchase agreement I had never seen before.
Christopher looked at the screen, then at me.
“Don’t answer him yet.”
Abigail sat beside my mother with both hands wrapped around the straps of her backpack. Catherine had picked us up from the shopping center and brought us to her apartment, where Abigail usually stayed on school nights when I worked late.
For months, I had treated that arrangement like a convenience.
Now Gregory’s words from the night before made it sound like something he had studied.
I opened his newest message.
Come home alone. We can fix this before you make it worse.
Christopher read it over my shoulder.
“He wants you separated from everybody else,” he said.
