𝑺𝒂𝒓𝒂𝒉 𝑴𝒊𝒍𝒍𝒆𝒓

     Dan calls my name. It echoes loudly. My ears ache just from hearing my name. He enters the kitchen and hurries toward me, kneeling gingerly beside me and touching my face and hair.

     “What happened?”

     He helps me get to my feet, and I moan as I feel excruciating pain in my head. I look blankly at his face. “I don’t know. I thought I saw someone in the house.”

     He puts his hand around my waist and guides me out of the kitchen.

     He says, “You were supposed to retrieve your phone. I had been waiting for minutes in the car. Then I drove back to check if everything was all right.”

     “Where are the kids?”

     “In the car.”

     “You don’t remember what happened?” he asks with a note of worry in his voice.

     I stare dubiously at him. “I probably tripped. I remember entering the kitchen because I thought I saw someone sneak in. I don’t think I saw anybody when I entered.”

     He sighs. “All right. Wait for me in the car. I’ll get your phone.”

     “Thanks. It’s on the nightstand in the bedroom.”

     He kisses my lips and says, “Be careful next time.”

     “I will.”

     He walks away, and I ran my hair backward, heaving a tender sigh.