I was standing at the kitchen sink, my hands submerged in hot, soapy water, scrubbing dried egg yolk off a frying pan, when Tommy came bursting in like he had just discovered buried treasure.
“Mommy, look what I found!”
Without turning around, I sighed. “If it’s another bug, I don’t want to see it.”
“It’s not a bug,” he said, clearly offended.
I glanced over my shoulder, ready to give him a quick, polite smile before going back to the dishes.
But the moment I saw what he was holding, my smile faded.
It was a purple plastic Easter egg, cracked down one side and smeared with dirt.
My stomach tightened.
“Where did you get that?”
“By the fence,” he said casually. “It was hiding.”
The way he said that word—hiding—sent a strange, uneasy feeling through me.
“Hiding?” I repeated.
“Yeah.” He crouched low, grinning, then popped back up. “Like this. Open it.”
I dried my hands on a dish towel and took the egg from him.
It felt heavier than it should have.
Something inside rattled.
I twisted it open.
A folded piece of paper slipped into my palm.
I unfolded it—and instantly felt a chill run down my spine.
CHECK YOUR HUSBAND’S CAR.
“What does it say, Mommy?” Tommy asked.
“It’s… an old shopping list,” I lied.
