I left with a plate of cookies I hadn’t earned and a tight, unfamiliar feeling in my chest.
Back home, chaos resumed. Baths. Water everywhere. Hazel sobbing because the towel was “too rough.” Nora refusing to get out because she was “still a sea creature.” Eventually all three kids piled into Milo’s bed because “the monsters prefer single targets.”
By the time they fell asleep, I was done.
I crashed.
At 6:07 a.m., horns jerked me awake.
Not one.
Several.
Red and blue lights flashed across my walls.
I rushed to the window and pulled back the curtain.
My front yard was full of police cars.
At least ten. Engines running. Lights flashing. Lining the curb and my driveway.
“Dad!” Nora screamed. “There are cops outside!”
Hazel started crying. Milo shouted, “Are we going to jail?”
“Everybody in my room,” I ordered. “Now.”
They scrambled onto my bed.
“Stay here. No matter what. Do not open the door.”
Nora’s eyes were wide. “Are you in trouble?”
“I don’t think so,” I lied. “We’ll find out.”
Then came pounding.
