My name is Lawrence. I’m twenty-eight, a new father, and until yesterday, I thought I understood danger. I thought fear was instinct—a reflex that alerts you when something’s wrong. Nothing in my life prepared me for what hit me last night.
I stepped through the mudroom just after six. Before I even set my bag down, I heard it—Aiden’s crying. Not the usual fuss or hunger, not gas. This was raw, primal, painful.
“Claire?” I called.
No answer.