“Something strange is happening to your mom. You have to save her.” An urgent call from her dad sends Kimberley racing to her childhood home. Fear grips her as her mind spirals through horrifying possibilities, but nothing prepares her for the shocking truth waiting inside.
The moment I saw Dad’s name flash across my phone screen, my stomach twisted into knots. Dad never called me directly — that was Mom’s job, and always had been. So right away, I knew something was wrong.
Really wrong. “Kimberly…” Dad’s voice trembled with panic “…you need to get your brother and come NOW! Something strange is happening to your mom.
You have to save her!”
He hung up before I could ask questions. I sat at my desk, staring at my phone as dread gripped me. Mom was a Wonder Woman who could do anything, and achieve anything, no matter what obstacles lay in her path.
Now…
Now I couldn’t help but wonder if I’d just gotten the call everyone dreads. What had happened to Mom? Heart attack?
Stroke? Car accident? I snatched up my purse and leaped to my feet.
I snapped out a voice command to my phone to call Matthew, my brother, as I raced out of my office. It rang, and rang, and rang, then went to voicemail. I told my boss I had to leave, then hurried to my car.
Matt finally picked up as I started the engine. “Matt, something’s wrong with Mom. Dad’s freaking out.
Meet me at their house?”
“On my way,” he replied, his usual laid-back tone replaced with urgency. Time stretched into forever as I headed across town. Every red light was an eternity.
Every slow driver in front of me might as well have been parked. I swear I aged 10 years in the 25 minutes it took to reach my childhood home in the suburbs. My hands shook as I turned off the ignition, making my keys jangle tunelessly.
Now I was here, but a part of me couldn’t bear walking through the front door to face whatever had happened to Mom. But I had no choice. I burst through the front door, nearly face-planting as my heel caught on the welcome mat.
“Dad? Mom?” I called. The smell of stale takeout hit me first, followed by the sight of absolute chaos.
Dirty dishes towered in the sink like a game of kitchen Jenga. Empty Chinese food containers littered the coffee table. And there, in the middle of it all, sat my father — crying.
The story doesn’t end here –
it continues on the next page.
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