At 2 P.M., I Walked Into My Parents’ Backyard Expecting To Pick Up My 8-

whatever—just call me, Lib. No questions asked.

At the time, I’d replied with a laughing emoji and a joke about hoping I’d never need him.

Now my thumb hovered over his name, and a strange calm washed over me. Not happiness. Not relief.

Direction.

For the first time since this nightmare started, I knew exactly what my next step was.

“I’m going to get back continue reading …