CHAPTER 20
“Anastasia,” my husband snaps.
I gasp in a desperate breath of air. “Russel?” My voice is hoarse. Like I’ve just been strangled and my windpipe has been bruised.
“Anastasia.” He repeats my name. It sounds strange coming from him for some reason. “Are you all right?”
The children are looking at me with fearful expressions, even the older ones. I glance around, half expecting to find myself facing a very alive Henry or locked in his basement again.
But that’s not what I see. I’m in the airport. My husband and children — my family — are here staring at me worriedly. Two others, an official-looking man and woman, are standing far too close, asking me questions, feeling my wrists, talking to each other in hushed tones.
“I’m all right,” I tell them. I don’t know if they’re EMTs
