Three weeks. And every day, according to my five-year-old, the hide-and-seek game was still happening.
I sat up in the dark and made a decision: I wasn’t waiting three weeks for anything.
I went through the motions the next morning. Watched my husband back out of the driveway, coffee in hand, humming softly. Dropped Mason at school. Drove to the office. Sat at my desk.
At noon, I packed my bag, told my boss I had a fever, and headed to my car.
On the drive home, I called my husband. He picked up on the third ring, his voice slightly distracted. And behind it—music, and a woman laughing.
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