Lara never expected her world to change at 2:25 p.m. on a quiet Friday. That time of day was usually filled with emails and lukewarm coffee. But when her phone rang—no caller ID—something told her to answer.
On the other end was a small, trembling voice: “Mommy… I’m scared.”
It was her six-year-old son, Ben.
Ben was a gentle soul. Thoughtful and caring, the kind of child who always looked out for others—even worms on the sidewalk after it rained. Ruby, their 21-year-old babysitter, understood him well. She was kind, patient, and always took his love for dinosaurs seriously, playing along as if it were the most important job in the world.
So when Ben said softly, “She was standing… and then she wasn’t,” Lara’s heart skipped a beat. Ruby had collapsed, a glass of water spilled beside her. She wasn’t answering. Ben didn’t know if she was asleep or needed help—only that something felt wrong.
Lara didn’t hesitate. She dropped everything and rushed home.
The house looked perfectly normal—curtains drawn, everything in place. But it was quiet. Too quiet. She called out. No answer. Then she remembered what Ben had said—he was hiding. She found him curled up in the hallway closet, holding his stuffed dinosaur tightly.
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