My Parents Sold Their Paid-Off House To Rescue My Sister, Then Showed Up At My Lake House With A Moving Truck

I grabbed my phone from the desk and tapped the screen. The Do Not Disturb icon was active, but under it was a terrifying list of notifications.

Fifteen missed calls, all from Mom and Dad.

Twelve text messages.

I opened the first text from my mother, sent two hours ago.

“Almost there. Traffic is awful.”

The second text:

“Hope you have the driveway cleared.”

The third text:

“Pick up the phone, Rowan.”

A cold sensation—colder than the lake wind—washed over me.