“Maybe it’s the box spring,” I muttered.
As I ran my hand slowly across the center of the mattress, I felt it—something solid and rectangular beneath the padding.
My heart skipped.
For illustrative purposes only
I flipped the mattress over. At first glance, everything appeared fine. Then I noticed faint stitching near the middle—seams that didn’t match the factory pattern. The thread was slightly darker, resewn by hand.
A chill crawled up my spine.
“Caleb, did you cut this?”
His eyes widened. “No! I swear, Mom.”
I believed him.
“Go watch TV,” I told him.
“Why?”
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