I kneeled beside him, my medical training kicking in. His pupils were dilated, and his hands trembled. There was a red mark on his cheek. “What happened?” I asked, trying to keep my voice steady.
He swallowed hard. “I don’t know. Someone—someone was here.”
I felt a cold shiver run down my spine. “What do you mean?”
“I heard a noise,” he murmured. “I thought it was Noah. I went to check, and then—someone grabbed me. Shoved me in here. I must’ve blacked out for a minute.”
The officer’s expression darkened. “Did you see who it was?”
Micah shook his head, wincing. “No. Just—just that they were wearing black.”
My grip tightened around Noah as fear took hold. Someone had been in my house. Someone had left my front door open. Someone had let my toddler wander outside.
And I hadn’t been here to stop it.
The officer got on his radio, calling for backup. I held Micah’s face in my hands. “Did they take anything?”
He looked past me, into the hallway. His face paled. “Mom. The safe.”
I turned to where he was looking. The closet door stood slightly ajar, the little fireproof safe that held my important documents—Noah’s birth certificate, our passports, my late husband’s will—was missing.
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