My heart was still in emergency mode, but this was not a mountain rescue. This was four children left on my doorstep like luggage. I ushered them inside, where the kitchen lamp cast a tired yellow glow across the room and the kettle whistled low on the stove, as if my own life had been paused mid-step.
I moved fast, drying hair with towels, peeling off wet jackets, warming milk, and digging for snacks inside the half-empty diaper bag. There was not much there, only a few granola bars and a single spare onesie for Henry. I worked triage the way I did on a rescue call, except this time it was not strangers. It was blood.
Logan sat rigid, staring at the door as if he could will Amber back through it. Ella clutched her bunny so tightly her lips trembled. Liam kept babbling questions. Henry cried until I rocked him against my chest.
I called Amber three times. Every call went straight to voicemail. I left messages, my voice too calm for what I was feeling. I texted too. Nothing.
The night deepened, the storm outside relentless. By midnight, all four children lay tangled beneath a single blanket on the couch, their small bodies restless, their eyelids fluttering with uneasy dreams. I sat by the window, watching rain stripe the glass, listening to the echo of her words.
One hour.
One hour had already become twelve.
In the morning, as I sorted through the diaper bag again looking for medical records, I found a crumpled note folded beneath a packet of wipes. Her handwriting was rushed and careless.
“I’ll be back soon. Thanks. —A.”
My throat tightened. Soon. That word stretched and stretched until it felt like a lie.
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