My five-year-old, Mason, tugged at my sleeve. “Don’t open it, Mom. It’s our secret.”
My hand froze on the handle. Something shifted inside. A muffled laugh followed.
I was never supposed to be home this early. And whoever was in that room knew it.
It had started three days earlier at the kitchen sink.
It was a Thursday evening, ordinary in every way. I was rinsing dishes after dinner when Mason came running in, eyes bright, still buzzing with the endless energy of a five-year-old at the end of the day.
“Mommy, let’s play hide-and-seek like Alice plays with me!” he said breathlessly, skidding to a stop beside me.
I smiled, still scrubbing. “Sure, baby. Where do you want to hide?” I asked, glancing back at him.
He went quiet then. Too quiet for a child who had been bouncing off the walls just moments before.
