The Midnight Call
The call came at 11:47 p.m., cutting through the calm hum of the nurses’ station like a siren.
My heart skipped a beat when I heard the words “Highway Patrol” on the line.
“Mrs. Hayworth? This is Officer Rodriguez. We have your son, Quinton, here at the station. He’s safe, but we need you to come right away.”
Safe. That word should’ve brought comfort—but all I could think was that Quinton was supposed to be safe at home, asleep, with his father.
My hands shook so hard I dropped my keys twice before I finally got into the car. The fifteen-minute drive to the station felt endless.
How could my eight-year-old son end up at a police station? And why wasn’t Dale, my husband, answering his phone?
