Without thinking, I began typing.
Of course. I’ll—
Then my eyes returned to the threatening note.
I stopped.
Suddenly, one memory after another came rushing back.
The choir concert where Linda had filmed Emily because I couldn’t be there.
The science fair where Emily won second place and I arrived only after everyone was cleaning up.
Her father was frequently away for work.
And somehow, I had convinced myself that because Linda was there, Emily wasn’t really missing a parent.
I looked at my unfinished reply.
Then I erased it.
Instead, I typed:
I can’t. My daughter needs me tonight. I won’t be coming back in.
My finger paused above send.
For twelve years, I had responded to every urgent message from work.
Every request.
Every last-minute favor.
Not tonight.
I sent it.
Melissa replied almost instantly.
Excuse me? We’ve discussed this. If you leave us hanging today, don’t bother coming in tomorrow.
