The last thing my husband said before he locked us inside sounded so ordinary it didn’t raise a single alarm. “You and Noah will be fine for three days,” he said lightly, like he was heading out on a routine trip.

By the time Margaret realized she couldn’t reach me, it was already too late.

And then came the part that made my chest go completely hollow.

“He’s lost everything,” she said.

Every account. Every reserve. Every last accessible dollar.

And now—

“They’re holding him.”

The word hung between us.

“They’re demanding money to release him,” she added. “Three hundred thousand.”

I stared at her.

Three hundred thousand.

For a man who had locked his wife and child in a house to slowly suffer.

I waited for something inside me to break—for love, for panic, for instinct to rush in and save him.

Nothing came.

Only a cold, steady clarity.

“What are you going to do?” I asked.

Margaret held my gaze.

“That depends,” she said quietly. “On you.”

I blinked.

“What?”

“I can pay it,” she said. “I can get him out quietly.”

She paused.

“Or… we let the police move in.”

My breath caught.

“Tony has already contacted people he trusts,” she continued. “They can act. But once they do… there’s no protecting him from the consequences.”

Silence stretched between us.