The drive home was a silent, terrifying void. Jamie’s message kept flashing in my mind. When I finally pulled into my driveway, I sat for a long moment, the engine running, the pearl necklace feeling like a lead weight. I finally went inside, my home a familiar comfort, but I didn’t feel safe. A knock at the door made me jump. It was my neighbor, Mr. Harold.

“Nora,” he said, his voice low, “three police cars just sped past, heading toward your son’s place. The whole neighborhood’s talking.”

“I left early,” I said, my voice thin.

“That might have been smart,” he said, a world of meaning in his quiet tone.