The first twin interrupted, words tumbling over each other.
“She screamed at us to run. To find you. We ran the whole way. We don’t know if she’s still breathing.”
The restaurant went silent.
Plates stopped clinking. Conversations vanished. It was as if someone had turned down the volume on the entire world.
Ethan dropped to their level, his heart slamming against his ribs.
“Slow down. Breathe. What’s your mom’s name?”
“Natalie Morgan,” whispered the girl with blood on her collar.
The name cut straight through him.
Natalie.
The woman he was supposed to meet tonight.
The one Marianne had described as strong, hardworking, an amazing mom.
The woman who was supposed to walk through that door—and instead was bleeding on her living room floor.
“Where do you live?” Ethan asked, already pulling out his phone, already dialing 911, his hands steady not from calm, but urgency.
“Three blocks that way,” the other twin pointed with a shaking arm. “Fresno Street. The house with the white fence. Please—please hurry.”
“I’m coming. Stay with me.”
He ran.
No one stopped him. Someone shouted something about the check. Ethan didn’t look back.
This wasn’t about dinner.
This was about a life.