But I couldn’t settle down. Even during my nap I felt restless, my eyelid twitching nonstop.
During my afternoon video call with the client, the sense of dread became unbearable.
I got up during a break to pour myself some water using the matching mother-and-son water bottle set Emma and I shared.
But as I was pouring, my hand suddenly trembled.
Crash!
The cup shattered on the floor, shards slicing across my foot, blood welling up instantly.
Staring at the pieces scattered across the floor, my chest tightened.
An indescribable wave of panic flooded through me.
A mother knows. Something was wrong.
My hands shook as I grabbed my phone and opened the app linked to Emma’s heart monitor.
When the data loaded, my breath caught.
His heart rate was at 163 beats per minute—and climbing!
My mind went blank.
I snatched up my car keys and bolted for the door, dialing the teacher’s number as I ran.
No answer.
I tried the supervisor’s phone.
Powered off.
A cold fear drenched me from head to toe.
I floored the gas, blew through several red lights, and raced toward the private activity center on the outskirts of the city.
When I arrived, I searched every classroom and usual activity area.
No sign of Emma.