His eyes flicked away for half a second. Half a second is all it takes to break a mother.
“Please,” I whispered.
“Is Grant alive?”
He swallowed. “Ma’am, I can’t discuss details here. I just need you to come with me.”
I glanced back into my house.
The table was set. The food was waiting. The candles were dying.
“My children were supposed to be here,” I heard myself say.
He hesitated.
“I’m sorry.”
I should’ve called Mark, anyway. Instead I grabbed my cardigan, locked the door out of habit, and got into the cruiser. The back seat smelled like disinfectant and old fear.
The door shut with a heavy click that made my stomach drop.
The officer got in front and started driving.
“Where are we going?” I asked.
“Not far.”
“Not far where?”
He glanced up at the rearview mirror. “Someplace safe.”
“Safe from what?” My voice rose. “Did Grant get hurt.
Did he do something.”
“Ma’am,” he said, calm but firm. “Please.”
He paused. “You’ll have answers soon.
I promise.”
My phone buzzed. A text from Mark. “Mom please don’t freak out.
Just trust us.” Trust us. After four hours of silence.
I typed back. “WHERE ARE YOU?”
Delivered, but not read.
I stared at the back of the officer’s head.
“You know my kids.”
He didn’t answer right away.
Then, quietly, “Yes, ma’am.”
My heart lurched. “Are they in danger?”
“Then why am I in a police car?”
He exhaled like he was trying not to say the wrong thing. “Just hold on.”
