When I saw the look on Laura’s face the day I gave her the keys, I knew I had made the right decision. “Is it mine, Mom?” she asked, her eyes full of tears. “Yours and no one else’s,” I said, hugging her tight. “A place where you can start over. Where no one can…
That was the question that made my blood run cold. I took the device in my hands. It was warm, as if it had been turned on recently. The moment I held it, it vibrated. A notification, then another. I pressed the power button. The screen lit up. The phone had no password. “Betty,” Carol’s…
: D.E.M. Donna Elaine Morales. But it was heavier than normal, too heavy. With trembling hands, I opened the main zipper. Inside were the typical things—a mirror, lipstick, tissues—but underneath, wrapped in a silk scarf, was a cell phone. It wasn’t the latest model iPhone Donna always carried. This was a basic, cheap phone, one of those…
Finally, my fingers managed to grab one of the handles. I yanked it towards me with a sudden movement. The purse fell onto my lap just as Carol found a safe spot on the shoulder and stepped on the brake. The car stopped with a jolt. “Are you going to explain what is going on?”…
“Carol,” I said, trying to keep the panic out of my voice. “There’s a purse in the back. I think it’s Donna’s.” My sister glanced quickly in the rearview mirror. “Oh, yeah. She must have forgotten it yesterday. We’ll take it to her when we get there.” “No. I need to see it now.” Carol…
My heart started beating faster. Donna, my only daughter, had visited us the day before at the hotel. She had insisted on helping us organize the groceries in the trunk. I remembered her smile, her kisses on my cheeks, her affectionate words. “Mom, drive carefully. You know, this road can be dangerous at night.” Why…
n the car, the silence was heavy, broken only by Carrie’s quiet sniffles. Once we were both inside my BMW, doors closed, I turned to face her. “I’m going to ask you some questions,” I said, my voice gentle but firm. “And I need honest answers. Can you do that?” Carrie nodded, wiping her eyes…
Kathleen. My wife. The floor tilted again, more violently this time. “What did Carrie do?” I asked, forcing myself to focus. “She broke another student’s nose,” the principal stated flatly. “The girl had been bullying her, apparently making comments about her mother’s reputation. Carrie snapped during lunch and attacked her. It’s a zero-tolerance situation here….
Eleanor’s expression shifted from stern to utterly confused. She pulled a thick file from her desk. “Carrie McMahon, age fifteen, enrolled here three months ago. Emergency contact and father listed as Clint McMahon, McMahon Design Group.” She showed me the registration form. That was my signature—or a perfect, flawless forgery. “And the mother?” I asked,…
Carrie,” Eleanor said firmly. “Your father is here.” The girl’s tear-stained face crumpled. “Daddy, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to. They were saying things about Mom and I just…” I held up a hand, my voice miraculously steady despite the earthquake in my chest. “Miss Spencer, can I speak with you privately?” Eleanor glanced…