I glanced back at my house. The table sat ready. The food waited. The candles flickered low.
“My children were supposed to be here,” I heard myself murmur.
He hesitated. “I’m sorry.”
I should have called Mark regardless. Instead, I grabbed my sweater, locked the door out of routine, and got into the cruiser. The back seat carried the smell of disinfectant and old fear. The door shut with a heavy thud that made my stomach sink.
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The officer climbed into the front and started the car. Criminaljustice degree
“Just tell me if my son is okay.”
“Where are we headed?” I asked.
“Not far.”
“Not far where?”
He glanced at me through the rearview mirror. “Somewhere safe.”