A police officer stood on my porch.
Three dots popped up from Sarah again, then vanished. No message came through.
At six, I called Mark. Voicemail. Jason. Voicemail. Caleb. Voicemail. Eliza. Voicemail. Grant. Straight to voicemail, as though it never even rang.
At seven, the meal went cold. At eight, the candles burned down. At nine, I sat at the head of the table staring at six empty chairs. I tried convincing myself I was overreacting. But the silence felt like a message aimed at me. I wept into the napkin I’d pressed that same morning.
Then a knock came at the door. Not a casual knock. A firm, official one. I quickly wiped my face and opened up.
A police officer stood on my porch. Young. Neatly groomed. Serious.
Just listen to him and get in the car.
“Are you Linda?” he asked.
I nodded because my voice wouldn’t work.
He extended a folded note. “This is for you.”
