I don’t feel like waiting for him to answer my text at his leisure, so I click on his name from my favorites to call him. The phone rings once, twice… half a dozen times. Then it goes to voicemail.

Again, that in itself should not be concerning. When Enzo is on a job, he never picks up his phone. The equipment is painfully loud, and he’s often wearing thick gloves that won’t allow him to operate a phone. But then again, he can’t be on a job, because his truck is in the yard.

I have this uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach. Like something has happened.

I sprint back down the stairs, practically tripping on them. I check the living room and the kitchen one more time, looking for some sort of note from Enzo, saying he took the kids out for ice cream or something along those lines.

But there’s no note. There’s nothing.

I grab my phone again, wondering if I need to call the police. That seems like an overreaction though. It would be one thing if just the kids were gone, but since my husband is gone too, the assumption is that they are all together. Enzo will think I have lost my mind if I call the police on him. Besides, I don’t trust the police—after spending a decade in prison for reasons I still think are a bit unfair, you can’t help but feel that way. There’s only one police officer that I trust, but I wouldn’t call him unless it was an absolute emergency. And this isn’t an emergency—yet.

Okay, I need to think logically. Enzo and the kids are not here, but his truck is here. That means wherever he went, he went on foot. The most likely thing is that he is still in the cul-de-sac.

I exit the front door, trying to calm my rapidly beating heart. This cannot be good for my blood pressure. I took a pill this morning like I have every day for the last week, and Enzo bought me a blood pressure cuff to monitor it daily, but it’s still high. It’s not even a tiny bit lower.

My first stop is 12 Locust Street. As I get to the front door, I can hear noise coming from the backyard. It sounds like Enzo’s equipment, which is a good sign. He went over to work in Suzette’s yard, and he brought the kids with him.

I press the doorbell, and after what seems like an eternity, Suzette comes to the door. She smiles when she sees me, but there’s something in her smile that makes my skin crawl. I just want to collect my family and get the hell out of here.

“Millie!” she exclaims. “You look positively disheveled! Are you all right?”

“Fine,” I mutter. “Um, are Enzo and the kids here? I need to get everyone home and start dinner.”

“Enzo is here in the backyard,” she confirms. “He’s got so many helpful tips for gardening. Honestly, he is a genius, Millie.”

“Are the kids out there too?”

She shakes her head, puzzled. “No, just Enzo. I haven’t seen the kids. I think Nicolas has broken enough things in my house, don’t you?”

The relief I felt a minute ago completely evaporates. “The kids aren’t here at all?”

“No…”

When I got home, I felt secure in the fact that the kids had to be safe with Enzo. But if he isn’t with the kids, then where are they?

I search Suzette’s face, wondering if she’s messing with me. I don’t think making a mother scared that her children have vanished is a funny joke, but who knows with this woman. Except I don’t think she’s joking around. She hates the kids, so it’s not like she would want them over here.

“Can you please go get my husband for me?” I croak.

Her voice softens. “Of course. Just a moment.”

A second later, Enzo comes out from the back of the house, walking quickly. He has that same crease between his eyebrows that Ada gets.

Ada… I hope she’s okay. Where could she be? That girl would never go off anywhere without telling me.

“Millie?” He frowns at me. “What is going on?”

I squeeze my hands together. “I just got home, and the kids aren’t there. I… I thought they might be with you.”

Enzo looks down at his watch and his eyes bulge. “You just got home now?”

I don’t appreciate the judgmental look on his face. “Well, you weren’t home either.”

“Because I thought you would be,” he shoots back.

I don’t understand him. He got home before I did, so he had to have known I wasn’t there based on the fact that my car wasn’t in the garage. Yet he still left.

“Did you check the backyard?” Suzette asks unhelpfully.

“Yes.” My face burns. “I checked everywhere.”

Enzo looks over my shoulder at our house. “I’m sure they’re hiding in there somewhere. We will go look. Ada would not have run off.”

I can barely keep up with Enzo as he sprints across the yard to our front door. He stomps across the grass, smashing the blades with his boots—he must be really worried. Which in turn makes me even more worried. He’s generally the more laid-back parent between the two of us.

I trail behind him, and coming up from the rear is Suzette. Why is she following us? This is none of her business! I am tempted to whip my head around and tell her to get lost, but I’ve got bigger problems than Suzette right now.

Where the hell are my children? If they are gone…

The front door is still unlocked, and Enzo pushes it open. Just like before, the first floor of our house is completely silent except for the sound of my heart thudding.

“Was the door unlocked when you got home?” he asks me.

“No.” I distinctly remember pulling my keys out of my purse. “I unlocked it.”

“It’s a very safe neighborhood,” Suzette insists. “I always tell my clients that the crime rates are some of the lowest in the country.”

Shut up, Suzette. This is not the time for a sales pitch!

“Ada!” Enzo calls out. “Nico!”

No answer. My heart is beating so fast, I feel dizzy.

“Millie, can you call the school?” he asks. “Maybe we find out if they got on bus to go home.”

“The school will be closed,” I remind him. “But I can call the… the police…”

“The police?” Suzette bursts out, her blue-green eyes widening. “That seems extreme. You really want to bring the police over here? The kids are probably just out riding their bikes somewhere.”

Enzo gives her a sharp look. “Ada does not have a bike. And they would not have left without telling us. They would never.”

“Nico would,” she mumbles under her breath.

“Ada!” he calls out again. “Nico!”

I reach in my pocket again to pull out my phone. We have to call the police. Part of me doesn’t want to, because that will make it all real. They will not be two kids who just wandered off for a moment and are quickly found in a neighbor’s yard. They will actually be missing. But then again, the first few hours after children go missing is crucial. We don’t want to waste that time.

Suzette grabs my arm, her fingernails biting into my bare skin. “You’re being ridiculous. Don’t call the police.”