“The boys are going with me, Emily,” he said.

“If you want to see your mother alive, you will walk back to your car and drive away.”

I looked up through the darkness toward the top of the metal boarding stairs.

Daniel stood there, his long wool coat buttoned to his chin, his dark hair damp from the rain.

Behind him, the flight attendant held the cabin door open, a warm yellow light spilling onto the wet metal platform.

“You can’t do this,” I said, my teeth chattering against the phone.

“It is already done,” he replied.

“The boys are safe with me. Your mother is in a private care facility. She will remain there, comfortable, as long as you cooperate.”

“She is sick, Daniel. She needs her regular treatment.”

“Then I suggest you sign the custody release I left on her pillow,” he said.

He lowered the phone from his ear and began to turn back toward the cabin door.

“Daniel!” I screamed.

I dropped the phone into the wet grass and bolted from behind the stack of yellow baggage carts.