Standing in front of my house.
Holding Andrew in his arms.
My heart dropped so fast it felt like it shattered on impact.
I threw open the car door and ran.
“What’s going on?” I demanded, my voice tight, almost unrecognizable.
Andrew looked up at me, sleepy but calm, his tiny hand clutching the officer’s uniform.
He wasn’t crying.
He wasn’t hurt.
But that didn’t stop the panic surging through me.
“Is this your son?” the officer asked gently, nodding toward Andrew.
“Yes,” I said quickly. “Yes, that’s my baby. What happened? Where’s Logan?”
The officer shifted Andrew slightly, supporting his head with practiced care.
“We need to talk about your older son,” he said.
My stomach twisted.
