Right after my husband left for his business trip, my six-year-old gripped my hand and quietly said, “Mom… we can’t go back home. This morning I heard Dad on the phone, talking about something that involves us and it didn’t sound right.” So we didn’t go back.

Toby lagged behind me and dragged his feet. “You okay, sweetie?” I asked.

He did not answer until we were almost at the glass exit doors. He stopped so suddenly that I nearly tripped over him.

“Mom,” he said.

I turned around feeling a flash of annoyance that was instantly replaced by alarm. “What is it?” I asked.

He looked up at me and the raw fear in his eyes punched the air out of my lungs. “Mom, we can’t go back home,” he whispered.

I crouched down so we were eye level. “What do you mean? It is late and we need to sleep,” I said.

He shook his head violently as tears began to pool in his eyes. “No, please, something bad is going to happen tonight,” he insisted.

A few travelers glanced our way as they passed. I gently pulled him closer to a quiet corner.

“Toby, you are safe and Daddy is just on a trip,” I tried to reassure him.

“Mom, please, this time you have to believe me,” he said with a breaking voice.

The words stung because I knew I had ignored him before. A few weeks ago, he told me about a car idling in the dark, and I had dismissed it as a neighbor.