It was almost two in the morning when the quiet inside the guest room began to feel unnatural. The air outside the window had gone still. The air conditioner released a slow hum that seemed to echo against the walls. My five year old son, Alden, slept beside me with one small hand curled against my shirt. We were staying at my cousin Briella’s house on the western edge of Lake Hensley because she had asked for help during the first chaotic week after bringing her newborn home. Her husband was away for military training, and although I had not planned to stay more than a day or two, she insisted that she needed the extra support. My husband, Flynn, remained home because he was covering inventory checks during a night shift at the distribution warehouse where he worked.
I tried closing my eyes. Fatigue pressed heavily behind them. Just as I began drifting toward sleep, my phone vibrated sharply on the nightstand. The screen glowed in the dark and my stomach clenched when I saw Flynn’s name. He almost never called during work hours unless something serious demanded it.
I answered in a whisper. “Flynn. Is everything alright”