At 11:42 a.m., my phone started vibrating in my nursing uniform while I was caring for a patient.
I almost ignored it.
Three other patients were waiting, my shift was nowhere near finished, and I rarely answered unfamiliar numbers.
But something made me check.
“Hello?”
“Ma’am, this is Officer Benny Reyes. I’m calling about your sons.”
My heart nearly stopped.
“What’s happened? Are they alright?”
“Your children are safe,” he answered quickly. “But your older son has been involved in an incident. I need you to come home.”
I gripped the phone.
“Is Logan hurt? Has something happened to Andrew?”
“There’s no immediate danger. Please come home as soon as possible.”
Before I could ask another question, the call ended.
I stood frozen in the hospital hallway.
My seventeen-year-old son, Logan, had been struggling emotionally since his father’s death.
There had been a few misunderstandings with the police, and lately he’d been spending more time alone.
