The babies were four months old when the first threat arrived.
It came as a letter. Cream envelope, no return address, slipped under the front door of the brownstone on a Wednesday morning while Kade was at the office and I was in the kitchen trying to convince James that pureed sweet potato was not a personal attack on him.
Nora was already asleep in her bouncer, satisfied and completely indifferent to her brother's grievances. I wiped James down, settled him, and then went to the door to pick up what I assumed was a neighbor's misdelivered mail.
I read the first line and went cold.
We know who you are, Mrs. Carter. We know what you came from. And we know things about how you got where you are that would ruin your husband's name overnight. Stay quiet and enjoy your life. Make noise an
