I never thought the boys would cling to me like I was their own mother—until their father noticed the scar only his dead wife should have had.

We raced to the airport.

Andrew was driving too fast.

I was in the passenger seat, my heart pounding so hard I could hear it.

The boys were at home with the security team.

They were safe.

For now.

"They had someone on the inside," the police officer told us when we arrived. "A woman who worked at the boys' school. Vivian paid her to bring the boys to the airport this afternoon. She was going to meet them here."

My hands were shaking.

She was going to take them.

She was going to take my boys and disappear forever.

"Where is she now?" Andrew asked.

"In holding," the officer said. "She's been arrested. We have enough to hold her for now—conspiracy to kidnap, passport fraud. But your investigator's evidence will make the charges stick. Arson. Attempted murder. Fraud. The works."

"Can I see her?" I asked.

The officer hesitated.

"Are you sure that's a good idea?"

"I'm sure."

He led us to a small interview room.

Vivian was sitting at a table.

Her hands were cuffed.

Her perfect hair was a mess.

Her perfect makeup was gone.

She looked up when we walked in.

And she smiled.

It was the same cold, dead smile.

"You came," she said. "I knew you would."

I sat down across from her.

Andrew stood behind me, his hand on my shoulder.

"You were really going to take them," I said. It wasn't a question.

Vivian shrugged.

"If I couldn't have Andrew, I wasn't going to let you have the boys," she said simply. "They were mine for three years. They called me mommy. They loved me."

"They were never yours," I said. "And they never loved you. They were just children who wanted a mother. Any mother."

Vivian's smile vanished.

"You think you're so much better than me," she said. Her voice was low and angry. "You had everything. The perfect husband. The perfect children. The perfect life. And you didn't even appreciate it. You were always so... kind. So generous. So good. It made me sick."

She leaned forward.

"You didn't deserve any of it," she hissed. "I did. I was smarter. I was prettier. I worked harder. And you just... had it all handed to you."

I looked at her.

Really looked at her.

And I felt something I hadn't expected.

Pity.

She was empty.

Hollow.

She had spent her whole life wanting what other people had, instead of building something of her own.

And now she had nothing.

"You're wrong," I said quietly. "My life wasn't perfect. And it wasn't handed to me. Andrew and I worked for everything we had. We struggled. We fought. We loved each other through the hard times. You didn't want a life. You wanted my life. And that's why you'll never be happy. Even if you had gotten away with it, you would have always known it wasn't real."

Vivian's face crumpled.

For just a second, I saw the girl she used to be.

The girl who had been my friend.

The girl I had trusted.

Then it was gone.

"I hate you," she whispered.

"I know," I said. "And I'm sorry for you."

I stood up.

I turned to leave.

"Elena," she called after me.

I stopped.

I didn't turn around.

"They'll never really be safe," she said. Her voice was almost gentle. Almost. "You'll always be looking over your shoulder. You'll always be wondering when someone else will come along and take everything from you. That's the price you pay for having something worth stealing."

I walked out.

Andrew followed me.

We didn't speak until we were in the car.

"She's wrong, you know," Andrew said as he started the engine.

I looked at him.

"About what?"

"About never being safe," he said. He reached across the console and took my hand. "We have each other now. We have the boys. We have the truth. Nothing can hurt us again."

I wanted to believe him.

But Vivian's words echoed in my head.

That's the price you pay for having something worth stealing.

I looked out the window.

The city was passing by.

Home was waiting.