“Leo,” I whispered.

There was no sound.

No soft breathing, no rustle of blankets.

I rushed to the white wooden crib in the center of the room.

My hands trembled as I reached over the railing.

The sheets were cold.

The mattress was bare.

The small blue blanket Emily had knitted was gone.

My chest tightened, a cold wave of panic washing over me.

She had taken him.

Margaret had moved my son.

I spun around, looking at the empty room.

The rocking chair in the corner was still.

The stuffed bear Emily bought him sat on the changing table, staring into the dark.

I had to think.

Margaret wouldn’t have taken him far, but she knew I was close.

She was playing a game, hiding him to draw me out.

I walked to the dresser, my boots sinking into the thick rug.

On the wall above the changing table hung the heavy silver mirror.

It was an antique, with ornate floral patterns carved into the thick frame.

Emily had insisted on putting it here.

She said the light reflected from the window would make the room feel warmer.