Most of all, I needed to get Mia out of this house before Preston returned.

I found her in Preston’s private study at the very end of the hall.

The heavy mahogany double doors were wide open.

This was a room I had rarely entered during our marriage.

Preston always kept it locked, claiming it held sensitive corporate files.

But today, the bottom drawer of the large desk had been pried open.

Mia was sitting on the floor, surrounded by old leather-bound journals and yellowed folders.

Her winter coat was tossed onto a nearby chair.

Her face was pale, her dark eyes wide as she looked up at me.

“Mom,” she whispered.

“What are you doing in here, sweetie?” I asked, my heart skipping a beat.

“I was looking for the packing tape in the desk,” Mia said.

“The bottom drawer was loose, and when I pulled it, the whole back panel slid out.”

She held up a thick, dusty document.

It had a faded blue cardstock backing, frayed at the edges.

“I found these,” she said, her voice trembling.