Innocent Passion
In the darkest, coldest part of the night, four hours before dawn, Mary Durham escaped from the only home she had ever known.
For five hours she had lain awake in bed beside her husband, counting the seconds off on her fingers until they were sore and cramping. Slipping noiselessly from beneath the blankets, she crept through the pitch-black room. Unwilling to risk even the slightest light, for fear of waking her captors, she made her way around the silent house from memory. Over the years, she had completely memorized the layout of the building. Now the knowledge served her well, as she had to merely count her steps to know exactly where she was.
She dressed in the dark, pulling one of her baggy, shapeless dresses over her head and the swelling curve of her pregnant be
