Carol looked at me, alarmed, her hands gripping the steering wheel tightly. “What is it, Betty? Are you feeling sick?”

“Stop the car,” I repeated, my voice sounding more hysterical than I intended. At seventy-two, I had learned to trust my instincts. And in that moment, every fiber of my being screamed that something was terribly wrong.

My sister thought I was overreacting. I saw it in her eyes, in the way she sighed before starting to slow down.