I was in the middle of giving a client presentation in Phoenix when my phone started vibrating again and again on the conference table.
I ignored the first call, then the second, but when I saw my daughter Emma’s name appear for the third time, a cold feeling ran through me.
I excused myself, stepped into the hallway of the hotel, and answered.
At first there was only silence and quiet breathing. Then Emma spoke in a voice so small I barely recognized it.
“Mom… Grandpa and Grandma told me to leave.”
I stopped walking. “What do you mean?”
“They put my suitcase outside on the porch,” she said, trying not to cry. “They left me a note.”
I leaned against the wall so suddenly my shoulder bumped the framed fire evacuation map.
“Emma, where are you right now?”
“I’m at Mrs. Donnelly’s house next door. She saw me sitting outside.”
“Stay there. Don’t go anywhere,” I told her. “Take a picture of the note and send it to me right now.”
