It was 8:00 AM in Switzerland. I was in the middle of a high-stakes, highly technical presentation regarding European data compliance protocols for my firm. I usually ignored my phone during these meetings, but I saw the caller ID flash on the screen out of the corner of my eye.
Mrs. Gable – Oakwood Elementary.
My heart performed a sharp, erratic flutter. I excused myself abruptly, leaving my colleagues staring in confusion, and stepped out into the quiet, carpeted hallway.
“Hello, Mrs. Gable?” I answered, my voice tight. “Is everything alright? What time is it in Boston?”
“Mr. Mea,” the principal’s voice was remarkably calm, but beneath the professional veneer, I could hear a distinct, vibrating thread of absolute panic. “It is two o’clock in the morning here, Julian. I am calling you from my office.”
I stopped walking. “Two in the morning? Why are you at the school? Where is Ana?”
“Ana is here with me, Julian,” Mrs. Gable said softly.
The air vanished from my lungs. A jagged, freezing shard of ice slid violently down my throat, lodging in my chest.
