for help.

PART 3

Friday morning started like all the others.

Ryan drove behind me, barking through the window.

“Faster. We’re already behind yesterday.”

My legs felt heavy. My incision burned. Then I noticed a silver sedan parked near the corner.

I knew that car.

The driver’s door opened, and Ryan’s mother stepped out.

“Diane?” I whispered.

She didn’t answer continue reading …