The drive home was a blur. Stacy kept hoping to see the Ford parked in the driveway, but when she arrived, the house looked different—darker, somehow. She burst through the front door, calling for her mother.
The sight inside was worse than the silence. Drawers were pulled out, closets were emptied, and half-packed boxes were scattered across the living room floor. It looked like a robbery, but nothing was missing except her father’s belongings.
She found her mother, Susan, sitting on the edge of the bed upstairs, clutching a framed wedding photo. Her eyes were red and swollen. “He was in such a panic, Stacy,” her mother sobbed. “He wouldn’t listen. He just kept saying he had to go.”
They sat together in the wreckage of their lives, trying to make sense of the sudden departure. But as night fell, Stacy noticed something through the window that made her blood run cold. A black sedan was idling at the end of the street.
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