I came back from a business trip, and the first thing my seven-year-old son said was, “Don’t go into my room.” Of course, I went in anyway.

machine, the dishwasher, or someone moving upstairs.

Lauren had been staying with him while I was away.

She was 32, dependable, and more protective of Bennett than almost anyone I knew. She had rearranged her work schedule without complaint when I asked her to stay.

When I called her name, no one replied.

“Lauren?”

Nothing.

The house felt strangely quiet.continue reading …