She used to dust those frames every morning even before she got kidnapped. Scold anyone who touched them. She said they were proof we existed.
I walked into the bedroom. The closet was full. Her clothes still there. Dresses. Coats. Even the white ones she loved.
She took nothing.
Only erased us.
My phone rang.
Roxanne.
Her voice was weak, trembling. “David… where are you? I woke up and you weren’t here. I dreamed about the babies. I’m scared.”
I looked around the empty house again. At the photos that used to prove I had a family.
“I’m on my way,” I said automatically.
But my grip on the phone tightened.
Isabella was gone. Ryle was gone. And for the first time, I did not know if they would ever come back.
Still, one thought stayed sharp in my mind.
I would find them.
No matter where they ran.
…
Roxanne crashed into my chest the moment I stepped back into the hospital room.
She was shaking hard, crying like the world had ended. Her fists clutched my coat, knuckles white. I wrapped my arms around her and held her steady, one hand rubbing her back, slow and firm. That was what I did. I kept things from falling apart.
But my head was somewhere else.
She looked up at me, eyes red, lashes wet. “David… you’re distracted. Are you thinking about them?”
I felt her body tense. “You still haven’t found my sister and Ryle, have you? Are they… alive?”
My jaw locked. I hated questions I could not answer.
“No updates yet,” I said. “My people are still searching.”
Her face folded instantly. Tears spilled faster. “This is my fault,” she whispered. “If I wasn’t there, Isabella wouldn’t have jumped. She wouldn’t have done something so extreme.”
I tightened my hold on her. “Stop blaming yourself,” I said low. “We already lost the twins. That’s enough pain for one body to carry.”
Then I added, slower, firmer, “She jumped because Ryle was in the water. She was saving our son. That’s all.”
Roxanne nodded against my chest, quiet now. I felt the slightest shift in her breathing, like something passing behind her eyes. I ignored it.
Inside, I was already doing the math.
Isabella was not weak. She was terrifyingly strong. She used to slice through water like it belonged to her. She nearly made the national swim team back then. And Ryle? He trained young. Too young. But he was fast, disciplined.