I didn’t want neighbors or friends.
I only wanted one thing.
My six children.
My whole world in one room again.
I spent two days cooking their favorite meals.
Lasagna for Mark.
Roast chicken for Jason.
Apple pie with extra cinnamon for Sarah.
I set the table for seven people and lit the candles.
Then I waited.
One hour.
Two hours.
Four hours.
The house stayed painfully quiet.
I sat at the head of the table and cried into a napkin I had ironed that morning.
Then there was a knock at the door.
When I opened it, a police officer stood on my porch.
“Mrs. Carter?” he asked.
“Yes?”
He handed me a folded note.
“This was left at the station for you,” he said. “Your children asked me to deliver it.”
My heart started racing.
I opened the note.
The first line made my hands go numb.
Mom, we’re sorry we made you wait.
I didn’t understand.
I stepped outside the house.
And then I saw headlights turning onto the street.
A car pulled into the driveway.
Mark stepped out.
Then another car arrived.
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