When Lara’s six-year-old son calls her in the middle of the day, whispering that he’s afraid, she races home, only to find their babysitter unconscious and her past clawing its way back. As panic rises, Lara must confront the one memory she’s tried to bury: the day she and Ben found his father dead.
You don’t expect your world to tilt at 2:25 P.M. on a Friday afternoon. You expect emails. Maybe a vending machine coffee. But not your six-year-old son’s voice, whispering fear into your ear like it’s the only thing holding him together.
I’m Lara, 30, a single mom trying to keep it all together, full-time job, full-time chaos, like I’m carrying a tray of glass that’s always on the verge of tipping.
Ruby, our babysitter, is 21. She’s gentle, with a kind of calm that made Ben feel safe instantly.
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