She looked at us through the open window for a long moment.

“Live a quiet life,” Isabella said.

Then she rolled up the window, and the van backed out of the driveway, disappearing down the road.

Adrian unlocked the front door of the house with the key from the envelope.

Inside, the air was cool and smelled of cedar and clean wool.

There was a simple stone fireplace in the living room and a large wooden table near the kitchen window.

We laid the children down on a large sofa in the corner and covered them with a wool blanket.

Adrian sat down at the wooden table and emptied the envelope.

There were five envelopes inside, each containing new birth certificates and driver’s licenses.

My new name was Sarah.

His was Thomas.

“Thomas,” I said aloud, testing the sound of it.

Adrian looked up and smiled, a genuine, tired smile that reached his eyes.

“I like it,” he said.

He gathered the papers and walked over to the small wood stove in the kitchen.

He opened the metal door, struck a match, and tossed the empty manila envelope inside.