"Not too far where?"
He peeked at me in the rearview mirror. "Somewhere safe."
"Safe from what?" I started getting louder. "Did Dean get injured? Did he do something wrong?"
"Ma'am," he said, keeping it cool but strict. "Please."
"Don't 'please' me. Just tell me if my boy is okay."
He hesitated. "You'll get all the answers in a bit. I swear."
My phone vibrated. A message from Mason. "Mom please don't freak out. Just trust us." Trust us. After literally four hours of getting ghosted.
I quickly texted back. "WHERE ARE YOU GUYS?"
It said delivered, but he didn't read it.
I just stared at the back of the cop's head. "You know my kids, don't you."
He didn't say anything right away.
Then, super quietly, "Yes, ma'am."
My heart jumped into my throat. "Are they in some kind of trouble?"
I figured hitting 60 would feel cozy, surrounded by a full table and voices I knew. But instead, the house was dead silent, the food got cold, and every passing minute just made those empty chairs stand out more. By the time someone finally knocked, it didn’t sound like family at all.
I sat there for four hours waiting for my six kids to show up for my 60th birthday. Four hours is way too long to sit in a quiet house with seven plates set out and a stomach full of hope. And totally alone, on top of it.
