By Becca Wierwille

I wanted to stay. I loved him. For five years, I couldn’t picture life without him.

He was good to me—most of the time, at least. He listened when I told him about my day. He kissed me every morning before we parted ways. He drew me beautiful pictures of trees and rainbows and families.

My Daniel was an artist. He’d get frustrated at times. Some nights, tears gathered in his eyes because he couldn’t get it right. But I told him to never give up. I told him his talent was real. I pray he believed me.

When Daniel was most agonized, he was difficult to live with. He was defiant and angry. He’d lock himself in his room and refuse to come out.

But the challenging words, the anger, the hostility—they were far outweighed by Daniel’s kind heart. And in the end, they aren’t why I chose to leave.

I left because of events that began with a phone call one sunny Tuesday morning.

“I know what you did, Rose,” said the chilling voice on the other end of the line. “I hope you know the truth will come out in time. It always does.”

I knew the man who owned that voice, but I wouldn’t let myself feel afraid. I wouldn’t give him the reaction he wanted. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said.

“I think it’s time now,” he said.

He was playing with me. “You’re not going to say a word, Reggie,” I said. “You’re as guilty as I am.”

“But I’ve got nothing to lose, darling.”

I hung up the phone without another word. I wasn’t going to be the subject of Reggie’s sick games any longer. I was sure he was lying. He wouldn’t tell. He was the only one who knew my secret, and he would keep it, just to save himself.

Still, I couldn’t stop thinking about Reggie’s call the rest of that sunny Tuesday. When Daniel got home, I couldn’t even look at him without thinking to myself, What would Daniel think if he knew what I did all those years ago?

By Wednesday, I’d scared myself so badly I had to see Reggie for myself. I had to talk to him, face-to-face. I had to find out what he meant when he said he had nothing to lose. Those were some dangerous words, if there was any truth in them.

Reggie wasn’t home. His door was unlocked. I searched every room, afraid he’d messed himself up pretty bad and was passed out in a closet or something. His car was still in the garage, his keys were on top of the fridge, the same place he always kept them. But he was gone.

Oh, Rose. This is bad.

I took Reggie’s car back to my place; it was faster than public transportation. I had to see if the nightmare I imagined was coming true.

I saw three squad cars in front of my apartment. I saw Daniel holding the hand of one of the officers. He looked lost and confused.

I wanted to stop and run to Daniel. I wanted to stay and fight for him. I wanted to tell them that this was all a mistake. I was his real mother. I needed him and he needed me.

But all I could see in my mind were handcuffs. All I could hear were the words, “Rose Hemlock, you are under arrest for the kidnapping of Daniel Martin.”

So I didn’t stay. I kept driving right past the apartment, and I never looked back.