That evening, I quietly walked to my son’s house, sticking to the shadows.
I knew the side gate had a broken latch from when my husband used to fix things around the house. It opened with a gentle push.
I spotted Timmy’s window on the second floor. Light was spilling from it. “Timmy!” I whispered.
A moment later, his little face appeared. “Grandma!” he gasped.
“Are you okay? What did you mean in your note?” I asked softly.
He hesitated, glancing over his shoulder. “Mom and Dad… they’re not the same. They fight all the time. And… there’s this man. He comes over a lot. I don’t like him. He scares me.”
I knew something was very wrong. “Listen, sweetheart. I’m going to help you. I promise.”
I heard heavy footsteps approaching the front door. “Go!” Timmy whispered urgently before disappearing.
