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.

sliding glass door was locked from the inside.

Lauren’s car was still parked in the driveway.

My pulse quickened.

I returned to the hallway, where Bennett stood exactly where I had left him.

“Bennett,” I asked softly, “where’s Aunt Lauren?”

He stared at the floor.

“I… I don’t know.”

That was impossible.

She would never leave him alone.

I crouched in front of continue reading …