“They went into the old motel on Route 9.”

I tried to laugh it away. I told him he had probably mistaken two strangers for them.

But Noah insisted he had recognized Logan’s blue jacket and my mother’s silver hair. He had watched them step from the same car and walk into the building together.

Noah was not a child who invented stories. He admitted mistakes before anyone discovered them and rarely exaggerated.

Before I could question him further, another coughing attack began. I helped him sit down and brought him water.

Then my phone buzzed.

Logan had sent a message.

Don’t wait for dinner. I’m stuck at work and will probably be home late. Love you.

My stomach tightened.

“What did Dad say?” Noah asked.

“He said he’s working.”

“But I saw him.”

I looked at my frightened son.

“I believe you.”

The relief on his face was immediately replaced by fear. If I believed him, then something was terribly wrong.

I called our neighbor Sarah and asked her to stay with Noah. Then I grabbed my keys and drove toward Route 9.

My mind filled with possibilities I did not want to imagine.

I could not understand how the two people I trusted most could be meeting secretly in a motel.

When the yellow sign appeared ahead, I whispered to myself that there had to be an innocent explanation.

But nothing about the place looked innocent.

The parking lot was nearly empty, and a flickering light hung above the entrance.

At the desk, I told the clerk I needed to deliver work documents to my husband. She initially refused to reveal his room number, so I showed her our anniversary photograph and explained that our son was ill.

After studying my face, she lowered her voice.

“Room 114.”

Part 2: Behind the Door

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