“No.”
The fear in his voice wiped away my smile.
He looked nervously toward the hallway.
“I promised I wouldn’t let anyone in.”
I frowned.
“Promised WHO?”
He did not answer.
His fingers tightened around my sleeve, trembling through the fabric.
That was when I realized something else was wrong.
The house was not peaceful.
It was unnaturally quiet.
There was no music coming from the kitchen, even though Lauren always played something while she cooked.
The television was off.
I heard no dishwasher, washing machine, or footsteps upstairs.
Lauren had stayed with Bennett during my trip.
She was thirty-two, reliable, and more protective of my son than almost anyone I knew. She had changed her work schedule without complaint when I asked her to help.
I called her name.
“Lauren?”
There was no answer.
The silence felt wrong.
I stepped inside and closed the door behind me.
Bennett stayed so close that his shoulder pressed against my side.
“Maybe she’s in the kitchen,” I said, mostly to calm myself.
The kitchen was empty.
Two cups sat beside the sink. A tea bag floated in one, while the other looked untouched.
I checked the backyard.
No one was there.
Lauren’s car was still outside.
My pulse started racing.
When I returned to the hallway, Bennett stood exactly where I had left him.
“Bennett,” I asked gently, “where’s Aunt Lauren?”
He stared at the floor.
“I… I don’t know.”
That made no sense.
Lauren would never leave him alone.
I crouched in front of him and rested my hands lightly on his shoulders.
His lower lip trembled.
“I don’t know.”
“Did she go outside?”
He shook his head.
“Did someone come to the house?”
His eyes moved toward the hallway again.
Then I noticed a thin line of light under his bedroom door.
Bennett was careful about turning lights off because Lauren had convinced him every bulb left on cost me a fortune.
Then I heard another sound.
It was so faint I nearly missed it.
A low whisper.
Then the noise of something heavy scraping across the floor.
Every muscle in my body tensed.
Bennett’s small fingers kept trembling.
“Mom… please.”
