"Are you Diane?" he asked.
I just nodded because I couldn't get my throat to work.
He handed me a folded piece of paper. "This is for you."
It had my name on it. I recognized the handwriting instantly, and it made my hands go totally numb. Dean. I opened it right then and there, standing under the porch light.
Mom, don't call anybody. Don't ask any questions. Just listen to what he says and get in the car.
For a split second, I forgot how to breathe. Dean was always my troublemaker. The kid I stressed over whenever the phone rang late at night.
The cop said, real softly, "Ma'am, I need you to come with me."
I looked up at him, totally freaking out. "Is my son still alive?"
He looked away for just a split second. But half a second is all it takes to crush a mom.
"Please," I whispered. "Is Dean alive?"
He gulped. "Ma'am, I really can't get into the details right now. I just need you to get in the car with me."
I looked back into my house. The table was all set up. The food was just sitting there. The candles were burning out.
"My kids were supposed to be here," I heard myself mutter.
He paused. "I'm really sorry."
I probably should've called Mason anyway. But instead, I grabbed my sweater, locked the front door out of pure habit, and got into the police car. The backseat smelled like strong cleaner and old panic. The door slammed shut with a heavy click, making my stomach completely drop.
The cop hopped in the front and started driving.
"Where are we heading?" I asked.
"Not too far."
I Waited 4 Hours for My 6 Children to Arrive for My 60th Birthday, but the House Stayed Silent — Until a Police Officer Handed Me a Note That Made My Heart Stop
