During Mother’s Day dinner, my sister proudly announced that her third baby was on the way. My mother clapped her hands and said, “This is everything I ever wanted.”

“Yes, ma’am. Six years old. He’s safe. Cold and frightened, but safe. He said he was trying to find Aunt Martha because his little sister was crying and nobody would wake up.”

I was already out of bed.

The room tilted around me as I grabbed for jeans on the chair, one hand clamped around the phone, my mouth suddenly dry.

“Where is he now?”

“At the house. We brought him back. His sister is here as well. We need you to come to the residence if you’re able.”

“Where are my parents?”

Another pause.

“They’re here.”

“And Colette?”

“We’re still trying to reach her.”