After dropping my wife off at the airport for her wellness retreat, my twelve-year-old granddaughter whispered….

—Grandpa—she said, barely audible, as if the sound itself might betray her—. We can’t go home.

Sυs palabras пo teпíaп seп ese momentпto, pero la forma eп qυe las dijo coпvertió lo absυrdo eп υrgeпte.

I looked at her in the rearview mirror, hoping to find a joke, a weak exaggeration, something that could explain it without complications.

But there was nothing of that on his face.

There was fear.