I boarded my flight in a blur of juggling the stroller, the diaper bag, and the carrier, followed by wiping everything down, taking advantage of the empty seat next to me to buckle in Grace’s car seat, and giving her a bottle during takeoff. Once she settled, I felt a strange relief in the sterile cabin thirty thousand feet off the ground. At least here, Grace and I were safe. I’d been deluded to think that a torn postcard was some kind of secret communication. Too many sleepless nights and internet forums had made me hallucinate a message from Lena.

I rested my hand on the edge of Grace’s car seat, where the hum of the plane had already sent her to sleep. The police, the FBI, Alondra, everyone was so sure Lena was in Texas. Her aunt was there, all her employees, Brady. There was no reason to think she’d be anywhere else. Instead of racing off to find her and put an end to this nightmare, I was really just running away from danger. All I wanted was safety for Grace, a stable home with two parents who loved her and each other. I could still feel the phantom pressure of my last embrace with Michael, but even as I noticed, it faded away.

When we landed at Newark, I was so relieved to see my parents waving by the baggage claim. Only three months had passed since their visit, but as I set Grace next to them in her little seat and sank into my mother’s embrace, I felt decades older. They looked exactly the same, my mother with her feathery ash-blond hair and oversized earrings, my dad with his steel-rimmed glasses.

Was it my imagination, or were they studying me a little too intently? Then the first bags appeared on the baggage carousel, and I started sprinting back and forth, gathering the portable crib, the stroller base, and our suitcase, while my parents cooed over Grace.

Then my dad picked up the crib and stroller. “Your sister’s place in Hawthorne is just a fifteen-minute drive. Might as well get this show on the road.”

Molly’s sublet was nicer than I’d expected for a basement apartment, like student teacher digs rather than a troll’s cave. The windows were large, even if they were high up on the walls, and the inexpensive furniture was sturdy and undamaged. I could see signs of my younger sister, the framed album covers and a specially matted concert poster I’d given her, the tins of exotic teas, a blanket crocheted by our grandmother with primary-colored flowers edged in black instead of the gray she had used on mine.

Grace took to my parents as if she remembered them, smiling and reaching for my mom and allowing herself to be passed to my dad without a hint of protest.