Lena helped me slide out of the bed.

My abdominal muscles burned, a sharp reminder of the physical toll of the last twenty-four hours.

I dressed slowly, putting on the loose grey sweatpants and the oversized blue shirt I had packed.

Every movement required effort.

But the adrenaline running through my veins kept the fatigue at bay.

I strapped Tommy into his infant car seat, checking the blue straps three times.

“Ready?” Claire asked, picking up my small duffel bag.

“Ready,” I said.

We walked down the quiet hospital corridor, Lena pushing my wheelchair until we reached the exit.

The humid Florida air hit me like a damp towel.

The afternoon sun glinted off the windshields in the parking lot.

Claire drove my silver crossover, while I sat in the back seat next to Tommy.

He slept soundly, his tiny chest rising and falling beneath his green blanket.

Our first stop was my house.

The suburban street looked normal, with manicured lawns and kids’ bicycles lying in driveways.

But a white maintenance truck was parked in my driveway.

A technician in a blue uniform was working on the front door lock.