I answered.

The first thing I heard was breathing. Thin, shaky breathing. Too small for the dark.

“Grandpa…” she whispered.

My body was moving before my mind caught up. “Lily? Baby, what’s wrong?”

“I feel so hot.”

I sat up hard and cracked my knee against the nightstand. Pain shot up my leg. I barely felt it.

“Where are you?”

“At home.”

I reached for my jeans with one hand and pressed the phone harder against my ear with the other. “Where’s your mom? Where’s your dad?”

There was a pause. Not the kind a child takes when she’s thinking. The kind a child takes when she’s afraid the truth will make everything worse.

“They left.”

My stomach turned cold.