“I can’t discuss that here,” he said quietly. “But you need to come with me.”
I looked back into my house. The birthday table was still waiting. The candles were nearly burned down.
“My children were supposed to be here tonight,” I whispered.
“I’m sorry,” he replied.
I locked the door and got into the police car.
During the drive, anxiety twisted inside me.
“Where are we going?” I asked.
“Not far.”
“Not far where?”
“Somewhere safe.”
My phone buzzed. A message from Mark appeared:
“Mom, please don’t panic. Just trust us.”
Trust them — after four hours of silence.
Finally, the police car pulled into the parking lot of a community center I recognized.
Outside were cars that looked familiar.
