When Lara’s six-year-old son calls her in the middle of the day, whispering that he’s afraid, she races home, only to find their babysitter unconscious and her past clawing its way back. As panic rises, Lara must confront the one memory she’s tried to bury: the day she and Ben found his father dead.You don’t expect your world to tilt at 2:25 P.M. on a Friday afternoon. You expect emails. Maybe a vending machine coffee. But not your six-year-old son’s voice, whispering fear into your ear like it’s the only thing holding him together.I’m Lara, 30, a single mom trying to keep it all together, full-time job, full-time chaos, like I’m carrying a tray of glass that’s always on the verge of tipping.
My son, Ben, is the center of my entire universe. He’s the kind of boy who doesn’t just feel his own emotions, he absorbs everyone else’s too. He’s soft-hearted, wide-eyed, and the type to bring home worms in his pockets because he didn’t want them to be lonely in the rain.
She’d become a part of our rhythm. She was careful with him. Attentive. Generous. Loving beyond anything. She even remembered which dinosaur phase he was in. Right now it was Allosaurus.
No Caller ID. A missed call. Then another.
I was reaching for my coffee when my phone lit up again, and something made me answer.
“Mommy?” Ben’s voice was so faint I barely caught it.
