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Chapters (61)
  1. Praise for USA Today bestseller Pamela Crane’s psychological thrillers:
  2. To Talia, for letting Mommy take a million pictures of you for my cover. I know you love the attention.
  3. Author’s Note
  4. The Pittsburg Press
  5. Prologue
  6. Chapter 1
  7. Chapter 2
  8. Chapter 3
  9. Chapter 4
  10. Chapter 5
  11. Chapter 6
  12. Chapter 7
  13. Chapter 8
  14. The Pittsburg Press
  15. Chapter 9
  16. Chapter 10
  17. Chapter 11
  18. Chapter 12
  19. Chapter 13
  20. Chapter 14
  21. Chapter 15
  22. Chapter 16
  23. The Pittsburg Press
  24. Chapter 17
  25. Chapter 18
  26. Chapter 19
  27. Chapter 20
  28. Chapter 21
  29. Chapter 22
  30. The Pittsburg Press
  31. Chapter 23
  32. Chapter 24
  33. Chapter 25
  34. The Pittsburg Press
  35. Chapter 26
  36. Chapter 27
  37. Chapter 28
  38. Chapter 29
  39. The Pittsburg Press
  40. Chapter 30
  41. Chapter 31
  42. Chapter 32
  43. Chapter 33
  44. Chapter 34
  45. Chapter 35
  46. Chapter 36
  47. Chapter 37
  48. Chapter 38
  49. Chapter 39
  50. Chapter 40
  51. Chapter 41
  52. The Pittsburg Press
  53. Chapter 42
  54. Chapter 43
  55. Chapter 44
  56. Chapter 45
  57. Chapter 46
  58. Epilogue
  59. Acknowledgments
  60. About the Author
  61. Enjoy what you read?

Debra had told me about the family mystery, regurgitating the macabre details as if she had lived them herself. A couple months after giving birth to Olivia, on a cool April evening, Alvera disappeared, never to be heard from again. No one knew exactly what had happened to her, though many suspicions arose. Olivia had been told by her father, Robert, that her mother was kidnapped and murdered by someone seeking revenge on the family over their wealth and prestige. Others speculated that, in order to send a strong message, she had been killed by a faction trying to squash the women’s suffrage movement. But a few rumors circulated that she went on to fight the battle under a new identity. That the mystery went unsolved, and we would never know the truth, was heartbreaking.

Another leather journal rested in the pile of memorabilia. I opened it up and scrolled through the pages, coming near the end where I saw a drawing of a symbol, followed by Alvera’s explanation for its significance:

This Celtic sign of courage depicts the shared struggle that we as women must face and conquer together. Only through courage can we fight for our voice and win.

It was Vera’s tattoo.

Vera had seen this.

“Oh my God,” I whispered.

“What?” Oliver echoed.

“I think I know how to find Vera!”

It was the first warm thought in a heart that had been frozen for months.

Carrying Alvera’s journal with me, I ran downstairs and into our bedroom, Oliver’s loud footsteps storming behind mine. I pulled open my bedside drawer and flipped open Vera’s journal. I had memorized its contents page by page, finding the image within a moment. The same exact drawing—mimicking the symbol from Alvera’s journal.

“Look, Oliver. It’s like she’s following the path of her great-great-grandmother. Down to the very same day she disappeared.”

April 16 was the day Alvera had found the courage to leave her husband, her child, and rediscover herself. One hundred and eleven years later, my daughter had done the same.

“Well, obviously she didn’t run off to join the women’s suffrage movement, Felicity. So what does this mean? And what does this have to do with where she is?”