My husband woke me up in the middle of the night. “Get up. Into the yard. Now.” We hid in the bushes in our pajamas, and when I saw who was entering the house, my hands began to tremble.

A light flicked on in the kitchen, casting a yellow square across the yard, and I searched frantically through the shadows until I saw Colton step into view inside the house, standing calmly in front of the two men without raising his voice or appearing surprised in the slightest.

He reached out and shook one of their hands.

The sight drained the warmth from my body so fast that I felt dizzy, and I watched in horror as they spoke casually for several seconds before Colton lifted his arm and pointed down the hallway that led toward the bedrooms where our children had been sleeping moments earlier.

I pressed my palm against my mouth to stop myself from crying out, and a sick understanding began to form in my mind as I realized that we were not hiding from intruders but possibly hiding from my own husband.

Grayson whispered shakily, “Mom, why is Dad talking to them?” and I had no answer that would not shatter his sense of safety completely.