Their ordinary Tuesday morning continued while mine balanced on the edge of an emergency.

That was the most frightening part of the scene: how easily danger could hide inside a familiar routine.

I reached for Lily’s hand without taking my gaze from the road.

She gripped my fingers with surprising strength.

From my vantage point, I watched my mother-in-law hurry across the lawn.

Mark pointed to the utility door, then toward the house.

She pulled items from her bag: a bundle of rags and a clear glass bottle.

Nausea surged in my throat.