My old flip phone sat in the back corner, its black plastic case dusty but completely intact.

I squeezed the sides, felt the hinge pop open, and saw three bars of battery glow across the tiny screen.

I shoved the flip phone deep into my coat pocket just as Daniel called my name from the dining room.

I didn’t sleep that night, watching the shadow of the ceiling fan spin against the bedroom wall.

At six in the morning, while Daniel was still asleep in the master suite, I slipped out the side door into the fog.

The walk into Crestview took me nearly an hour along the narrow shoulder of Route Four.