The Empty Driveway
Monday morning. 6:00 AM. Usually, this is when I’d be cracking eggs and searching for lost socks.
But today, my bed was empty. My suitcase was in the trunk of my old sedan. I watched the sunrise from a diner fifty miles away.
Back at the house, the silence was about to be shattered. The alarm clocks were ringing. The children were waking up.
Tick. Tick. Tick.
Lisa walked into the kitchen, expecting the smell of coffee and pancakes. Instead, she found a cold stove and a stack of dirty dishes from the night before.
“Mom? Mom, where are the kids’ school clothes?” she shouted into the hallway. No answer. Only the sound of Jake crying because he couldn’t find his shoes.
David burst into the kitchen, frantic. “She’s not answering her phone! It’s going straight to voicemail!”