Tears stung my eyes, and my grip tightened on the steering wheel. How could he destroy the only people who mattered to me?
The light at an intersection turned yellow. The car in front of me stopped, and I slammed on the brakes. My heartbeat lurched in my chest. The smoke drifted closer through the red and orange sunset, giving the sky a dull patina.
I knew I should have canceled this trip, but my sister, Carol, kept reassuring me. "Go, you deserve a break. I’ll watch the kids." But all I could think about was Dheeraj’s tight fists at the negotiation table. "I’m telling you it’s not over." My gut roiled. But my attorney tugged my arm, pulling me away. "He’s signed the divorce agreement. Just ignore him."
Now the light changed, and the car in front of me didn’t move.
I punched the horn.
Hurry, hurry, hurry.
The car rolled through the intersection.
This morning, after breakfast but before the conference started, I received a mysterious text.
—Ladybug, ladybug, fly away home. Your house is on fire and your children are gone.--
My whole body trembled. Assuming the unknown number was Dheeraj, I sent a reply.
—What’s up with the nursery rhyme?--
No response.
My fingers fumbled with the phone. I called Carol, but the call rolled over to voicemail.
Without further thought, I booked the first flight home. Five hours and three thousand miles later, I sat in bumper-to-bumper traffic.
Only three miles to go.
A singe of smoke wafted into the air like a beacon of reckoning.
—Ladybug, ladybug fly away home.--
Toggling back and forth between the two lanes, I inched my way forward.
Please, God, let the children be okay. Please, let everyone be okay. Please, please, please.
As I neared the fire, toxic fumes filtered through the vents.
Using the hands-free device, I tried to reach my sister again.
“Hello, this is—”
I ended the call without leaving another message.
Up ahead, a row of orange cones blocked the entrance to my street. I craned my neck. Two fire trucks, an ambulance, and a police cruiser crowded around the driveway.
An officer strode over to my window.
I pointed to my house engulfed in flames. “My kids and my sister,” I choked.
—Your house is on fire and your children are gone.--
The officer leaned over. “I’m sorry,” he said.
My throat closed, and my hands slackened from the steering wheel. Sobs moved up my chest. Through the blurry mist of tears, I stared at the flames flickering in the second-story window of the girls’ bedroom. If I could fly, I would swoop into that smoke-filled room and rescue my two daughters. I would feel their arms around my neck and hear their eager voices once again.