My son, 4, vanished in the mall.

happens. My son dies.”

My throat tightens. “And if the moment never happens for me?”

“Then your son does.”

The words land between us like glass.

“I do not want to play with fate,” I whisper.

“You already do,” she says gently. “So do I.”

She stands. “Tomorrow night. Rain. Highway 214. You take that road instead of the side streets. You stop when you hear continue reading …