Because a mother knows. A mother feels. And I felt that something was not right.

I drove down the interstate with my heart squeezed tight. Traffic was heavy as usual, but I barely noticed it. I only thought about those unanswered messages, those calls she never picked up.

I arrived at their neighborhood around eleven in the morning. A quiet area full of trees, with nice houses and white fences. Sarah and Michael had lived there for two years.

I parked in front of their house. The gate was closed. I rang the doorbell.

I waited.

I rang again.

Then I heard footsteps.

The door opened, and there he was.

Michael, my son‑in‑law, smiling.

“Emily, what a surprise! Is everything okay?” he asked.

“I came to see Sarah,” I said. “She hasn’t answered me all week.”

He stayed silent for a second. Just a second. But I saw it. Something passed through his gaze—like a shadow crossing the sun.

“Oh, she’s traveling,” he said finally, with that same smile. “She went with some friends to California. You know how she is—suddenly she gets an idea and she goes. She told me she’d let you know.”