I came home after a grueling hospital shift, dreaming only of slipping off my shoes and wrapping my arms around my kids. But as I pulled into the driveway, I slammed the brakes so hard the tires screeched. My heart sank at the sight before me.
Max and Ella were sitting quietly on the front steps, bags packed, looking like they were waiting for a taxi to whisk them away. Ella clutched her stuffed panda, her wide eyes scanning the street. Max looked up when he saw my car, confused, but calm—like this was completely normal.
I rushed out of the car and ran toward them. “Max? Ella? What are you doing out here?”
Max stood slowly and held out his phone. “You told us to. You said to pack and wait. That Dad was coming to get us.”
I blinked. “What are you talking about?” I took his phone and looked at the message: “This is Mom. Take the money on the counter, pack your things, and wait outside. Dad is coming.”
The message came from my number.
But I hadn’t sent it.
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