“She makes up stories,” Gloria said, as though she had heard every word.
Then she smiled and changed the subject.
At the time, I had told myself that children sometimes wanted to move in with relatives who seemed more fun.
I had told myself Ian would be home when he was ready.
I had told myself my parents were strict, old-fashioned, and difficult—but not dangerous.
The excuses felt uglier with every mile.
My parents’ house was completely dark when I pulled into the driveway.
There was no porch light, no glow from the television, and no movement behind the curtains.
I parked crooked, left the headlights on, and ran through the rain.
I pounded on the front door.
“Mom!”
No answer.
“Dad!”
I knocked harder.
“Open the door! Where is Lizzy?”
The house remained silent.
I called my mother’s phone while standing on the porch.
I heard nothing ringing inside.
