I locked myself in a restroom stall and zoomed in again. Beside Trevor’s passport sat a thick blue folder with an insurance logo, and my name was printed across the cover. Under it lay a second passport. Mom’s next photo showed its first page, with Trevor’s face and a name I had never heard: Ethan Marsh. The secret was not a gift or another woman. It was an entire second life, built inside a drawer I walked past every night.

My phone rang, and Mom’s voice shook. “The policy doubled two weeks ago, and he is the only beneficiary. There is a one-way ticket in that other name, leaving tonight.” I whispered that I would find airport security. Then I stepped out of the stall, and Trevor was standing at the restroom entrance holding my carry-on, smiling. Two men in dark jackets waited beside him, and neither wore a uniform.