Then I heard a small voice.
“Grandpa…”
I glanced in the rearview mirror. Sophie sat in the back seat, unusually quiet.
Her face was pale—too pale. Her hands were clenched tightly in her lap.
“What is it, sweetheart?” I asked.
Her voice trembled.
“Can we… not go home right now?”
The question made no sense. Sophie loved staying with us. My daughter, Catherine, had left her with us while handling a crisis at the hospital. Everything had seemed normal.
Until now.
“Why?” I asked gently.
She swallowed hard.
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