Chapter 1: The Woman at the Door
The door opened with a slow, trembling creak.
I expected to see a paramedic.
Maybe a neighbor.
Maybe anyone who could get me out of that house before my babies arrived.
Instead, a woman stood on my porch.
She was probably in her late fifties, dressed in a dark coat despite the summer heat. Her gray hair was pulled tightly behind her head, and she held a small black leather bag against her chest.
For several seconds, neither of us spoke.
Then her eyes dropped to my swollen belly.
Her expression changed.
Not surprise.
Not concern.
Fear.
“You’re Claire?” she whispered.
My fingers tightened around the doorframe.
“How do you know my name?”
She stepped closer.
“I don't have much time.”
Another contraction ripped through my body.
I screamed.
My knees buckled, and I collapsed against the door.
The woman caught my shoulder before I hit the floor.
“Easy. Don't push yet.”
“I can't…” I gasped. “I can't stop it.”
“You need to listen to me.”
“My husband locked me in this house!”
Her face went pale.
“Travis did?”
I nodded desperately.
“He left me here. I'm thirty-eight weeks pregnant with twins. My water broke. I need an ambulance.”
“I already called one.”
Relief hit me so hard I nearly sobbed.
“Thank God.”
But she didn't look relieved.
She looked terrified.
“Who are you?” I asked.
“My name is Margaret.”
“Margaret what?”
She hesitated.
Then she looked over her shoulder toward the street.
“Margaret Hale.”
The name meant nothing to me.
Yet the way she said it made my stomach twist.
“Why are you here?”
She crouched beside me.
“Because someone told me you were in danger.”
“Who?”
She looked directly into my eyes.
“Your husband.”
My heart stopped.
“What?”
“Travis contacted me three weeks ago.”
The hallway seemed to tilt.
“That doesn't make sense.”
“He told me that if anything happened to him, I was supposed to come here.”
I stared at her.
“Something happened to him?”
“No.”
Her voice dropped.
“He wanted me to believe something would.”
Another contraction came.
I grabbed Margaret's coat and screamed into her shoulder.
She held me until it passed.
Then she whispered something that made the blood drain from my face.
“Claire, your husband knew you would go into labor today.”
I pulled away.
“What?”
“He knew.”
“No. That's impossible.”
“He knew the babies were coming.”
“He couldn't know.”
“He knew the exact week.”
“That doesn't mean anything.”
Margaret reached into her leather bag.
She pulled out a folded piece of paper.
Then she handed it to me.
I couldn't unfold it properly because my hands were shaking.
But I recognized the handwriting immediately.
Travis.
My husband.
My eyes moved across the page.
If Claire goes into labor, do not let her return to the hospital until you know who arrives for her.
I read it twice.
Then a third time.
My breathing became shallow.
“What is this?”
Margaret didn't answer.
“Why would Travis write this?”
“He didn't want you at the hospital.”
I stared at her.
“That's what you're telling me?”
“No.”
She leaned closer.
“I'm telling you he was afraid of what would happen if you got there.”
A siren sounded faintly in the distance.
For one glorious second, I thought everything would be okay.
Then Margaret looked toward the street.
Her expression changed again.
“That's not the ambulance.”
“What?”
She grabbed my arm.
“Get inside.”
“Why?”
“Now.”
She pulled me backward and slammed the door shut.
Then she locked it.
My heart pounded.
“What are you doing?”
“Listen.”
We stood completely still.
A vehicle slowed outside.
Not an ambulance.
A black SUV.
It rolled past the house.
Then stopped.
My stomach dropped.
Margaret moved toward the window and carefully lifted one corner of the curtain.
Her face became completely white.
“Who is it?” I whispered.
She didn't answer.
“Margaret?”
She lowered the curtain.
“They found you.”
“Who?”
She looked at me.
“Your husband's family.”
My blood ran cold.
“No.”
“They're here.”
“I thought they were at the mall.”
“They were.”
She reached into her bag again.
This time she pulled out a small photograph.
She handed it to me.
I looked down.
It was a picture of Travis.
But he wasn't alone.
He was standing beside a man I'd never seen before.
An older man.
Gray-haired.
Severe-looking.
And standing behind them was Deborah.
My mother-in-law.
I looked at the date printed in the corner.
Three months ago.
“Who is that man?”
Margaret's voice barely rose above a whisper.
“Your father-in-law.”
I frowned.
“My father-in-law is dead.”
Margaret stared at me.
“No, Claire.”
She shook her head.
“He isn't.”
The photograph slipped from my fingers.
My father-in-law had supposedly died seven years ago.
I'd attended the funeral.
I'd seen his coffin.
I'd watched Travis cry beside his grave.
I'd believed every word.
Then someone knocked on the front door.
Three slow knocks.
The exact same rhythm as before.
Margaret grabbed my wrist.
“Don't open it.”
I couldn't breathe.
Another knock.
Then a man's voice came through the door.
“Claire?”
I knew that voice.
I had heard it hundreds of times.
It belonged to Travis.
My husband.
The man who had just left me alone to give birth.
“Claire, open the door.”
Tears filled my eyes.
“That's Travis.”
Margaret shook her head.
“No.”
The voice came again.
“Claire, please.”
I took one step toward the door.
Margaret pulled me back.
“That's not your husband.”
“Then who is it?”
She stared at the door.
And then came the sentence that shattered whatever remained of my understanding.
“Because Travis is already inside the house.”
I froze.
My entire body went numb.
“What did you say?”
Margaret pointed toward the hallway.
“The basement.”
I looked behind me.
The basement door was closed.
I'd never paid much attention to it.
Travis had always told me it was just storage.
Margaret's eyes locked onto mine.
“He didn't leave you alone, Claire.”
She swallowed hard.
“He left someone else here.”
A sharp metallic sound came from beneath us.
Click.
Then another.
Click.
The basement door slowly began to move.
I stepped backward.
Margaret grabbed the nearest chair and held it like a weapon.
The door opened two inches.
Then five.
Then a shadow appeared behind it.
My heart hammered against my ribs.
A man's hand slowly emerged from the darkness.
And around his wrist was the silver watch I'd given Travis on our wedding anniversary.
Margaret whispered:
“Whatever happens next…”
The basement door swung completely open.
May you like
“…do not let him see the babies.”
Then the lights went out.
