By the time I arrived, two police vehicles were parked outside.
Mom opened the door before I reached the porch.
“Emma!”
I ran into her arms.
She held me so tightly I could barely breathe.
For a moment, I was six years old again.
A little girl running home after falling off her bicycle.
Except now I was thirty.
And for the first time, I understood how terrifying it was to imagine losing the person who had always made the world feel safe.
“I'm okay,” Mom whispered.
I pulled back.
“Are you hurt?”
“No.”
“Did he get inside?”
“No. But he tried the door.”
Her hands trembled.
“He looked so ordinary, Emma. Jeans, a blue jacket, a friendly smile.”
I swallowed.
“That's how Alex looked too.”
Mom frowned.
“Alex?”
I took her into the kitchen and told her everything.
The young delivery driver.
Mrs. Wilson's sudden romance.
The unanswered calls.
