That Friday, as I reached for my coffee, my phone lit up: No Caller ID.
I almost ignored it.
Something made me answer.
“Mommy?”
Ben’s voice was so faint I barely recognized it.
My entire body went rigid.
“Ben? What’s wrong?”
There was breathing. Then silence—too long, too heavy.
“I’m afraid,” he whispered.
His voice cracked down the middle, like something inside him had broken.
Racing Against Time
I didn’t log off. I didn’t explain to my boss. I grabbed my bag and ran.
Every red light felt personal. Every second stretched thin and unbearable. I drove like I could bend time if I pressed the gas hard enough.
When I pulled onto our street, everything looked deceptively normal.
Too normal.
The house was quiet. The door locked. Curtains drawn—something Ruby and Ben often did when they watched movies.
But something in my chest knew.
I unlocked the door and rushed inside.
“Ben?! It’s Mommy!”
