My stomach lurched.
“I don’t want details,” I said quickly.
“We won’t show you anything unless absolutely necessary.”
I swallowed, but my throat felt packed with sand.
“Is Daniel in them?”
Harris looked down.
“Yes.”
My body went numb.
The room tilted. The television kept playing. Some smiling woman sprinkled herbs over a roast chicken while my life collapsed in silence.
“That’s impossible,” I whispered. “He’s overseas.”
“He returned to the United States three months ago.”
“No. No, he didn’t. I spoke to him. I saw him.”
“We believe the calls were staged. Pre-recorded segments, scheduled messages, possibly routed through an international number. We’re still confirming.”
I pressed my hand over my mouth.
Three months.
Daniel had been here for three months.
And I had sent Noah to my mother’s house.
I had packed his pajamas. Kissed his forehead. Told him to be brave and listen to Grandma.
