Lately, though, I noticed whispers when I entered a room.
Glances that lasted too long.
Smiles that didn’t reach their eyes.
I ignored it.
I shouldn’t have.
One Thursday evening, Dad called, sounding upbeat in a way that felt rehearsed.
“Nat, how about a family hike this weekend? Evan’s joining too.
Aiden will love it. We haven’t done a trip together in ages.”
Aiden overheard and practically vibrated with excitement.
“Mountains! Mom, can we pleeeease?”
Even Brad surprised me by offering to come.
But Saturday morning, just as we were getting ready, he called from the garage:
“Work emergency. You go without me.”
His voice had the hollow, bored tone he used when lying.
Still—Aiden was already zipping up his jacket, bouncing toward the door.
I kept the unease to myself.
My parents’ SUV pulled up.
Evan sat in the back with expensive gear he clearly bought just for show.
When Aiden and I got in, the air felt thick. Too much cheer in my parents’ voices. Too much tension under Evan’s grin.
Something was wrong.
I just didn’t know what yet.
We drove deep into the mountains… farther than any hike we’d ever taken.
When we pulled into a desolate clearing, my stomach tightened.