He drove down the center lane, passing dozens of cars sitting bumper-to-bumper.

I looked down at Rowan’s chest again.

The retractions were getting worse, his skin pulling so tight against his ribs that I could see the outline of his tiny breastbone.

He was breathing over sixty times a minute, his tiny shoulders bunching up with every effort.

My phone vibrated in my pocket.

My heart leaped, a foolish hope flaring up that it was Landon calling to say he had turned around.

With one hand, I struggled to pull the phone from my jeans pocket.

The screen lit up with a text message.

It was from Patricia.

*We have arrived at the rental house. The ocean view is spectacular. Landon is going to take a nap.*

A wave of nausea hit me so hard I thought I would throw up on the dashboard.

I stared at the words, my thumb hovering over the screen, but my hands were shaking too hard to type a reply.

“Who is it?” Arthur asked, his voice sharp as he navigated a tight turn onto Caswell Road.