The taxi dropped me off shortly after four in the afternoon.
Lauren’s car sat in the driveway exactly where I expected. The curtains were open, although I saw no movement inside.
I quietly pulled my suitcase along the path, planning to unlock the door, sneak into the living room, and call Bennett’s name.
I never had the opportunity.
The front door flew open before I reached for my keys.
Bennett wrapped both arms tightly around my waist.
“Mom!”
His hair smelled like the strawberry shampoo he claimed not to like. His cheek pressed against my coat, and he held me as though he feared I might disappear again.
For a brief moment, everything seemed normal.
I closed my eyes and hugged him more tightly.
“I missed you so much,” I whispered.
“I missed you more.”
“Impossible.”
“No, I counted.”
“You counted how much you missed me?”
He nodded with complete seriousness.
“A lot.”
Then he lifted his face toward me.
His smile disappeared.
At first, I assumed he had remembered something he had done wrong. Bennett had a very recognizable guilty expression. His eyes widened, his lips tightened, and the floor suddenly became fascinating.
But this was different.
The color drained from his face.
His voice shook.
“Please don’t go into my room.”
I stared at him, then laughed lightly, thinking he must have made a terrible mess while I was gone.
Once, Bennett had constructed an entire cardboard city across his bedroom floor and colored half the wall blue because, according to him, every city required a sky.
“What happened? Did you draw on the walls again?”
He shook his head so violently that tears appeared in his eyes.
“No.”
The fear in his voice erased my smile.
He glanced anxiously toward the hallway.
“I promised I wouldn’t let anyone in.”
I frowned.
“Promised WHO?”
He did not respond.
His fingers tightened around my sleeve, trembling through the fabric.
That was when I realized something else was wrong.
The house was not peaceful.
It was unnaturally silent.
There was no music playing from the kitchen, even though Lauren always listened to something while she cooked.
The television was off.
I heard no dishwasher, washing machine, or footsteps upstairs.
Lauren had stayed with Bennett during my trip.
She was thirty-two, dependable, and more protective of my son than almost anyone I knew. She had rearranged her work schedule without complaint when I asked her to help.
I called her name.
“Lauren?”
There was no answer.
The silence felt wrong.
I stepped inside and shut the door behind me.
Bennett remained so close that his shoulder pressed against my side.
“Maybe she’s in the kitchen,” I said, mostly to reassure myself.
The kitchen was empty.
Two cups rested beside the sink. A tea bag floated in one, while the other appeared untouched.
I checked the backyard.
No one was there.
Lauren’s car remained outside.
My pulse began racing.
When I returned to the hallway, Bennett stood exactly where I had left him.
“Bennett,” I asked gently, “where’s Aunt Lauren?”
