At five, I texted the group chat. « Drive safe. »
A police officer stood on my porch.
Three dots appeared from Sarah, then vanished. No message.
At six, I called Mark. Voicemail. Jason. Voicemail. Caleb. Voicemail. Eliza. Voicemail. Grant. Straight to voicemail, like it didn’t even ring.
At seven, the food cooled. At eight, the candles burned low. At nine, I sat at the head of the table and stared at six empty chairs. I tried to tell myself I was being dramatic. But the silence felt personal. I cried into the napkin I had ironed that morning.
Then there was a knock at the door. Not a friendly knock. A firm, official knock. I wiped my face fast and opened the door.
A police officer stood on my porch. Young. Clean cut. Serious.
Just listen to him and get in the car.
« Are you Linda? » he asked.
I nodded because my throat wouldn’t cooperate.
