“What did you just say?”
He squeezed my hand.
“Please. Don’t ask me any questions until we land.”
I pulled my hand away.
“You just told me I would never see my children again, and now you’re asking me not to ask questions?”
A woman sitting across the aisle glanced at us.
Robert lowered his voice.
“Trust me.”
For the first time in fifty-two years, I didn’t want to. My mind raced through terrible possibilities.
Had my children decided to cut me out of their lives? Was Robert taking me somewhere against my will?
Had something happened to one of our children that he was afraid to tell me?
Or had he made some terrible decision on our behalf without asking me?
That last thought frightened me the most.
A few months earlier, I had accidentally overheard Robert telling our son David:
“Your mother will never agree to that.”
