The ridiculous baseball cap he had worn for as long as I could remember.
I gripped the steering wheel so tightly that my knuckles turned white.
“You have got to be kidding me.”
It was Mark.
My ex-husband.
Emily’s father.
The man who had texted me the night before to assure me that our daughter was fine.
The pickup pulled away from the curb.
For several seconds, I sat there, stunned.
Then anger took over.
I started the engine and followed them.
They drove past the shopping district, crossed the old bridge, and continued toward the outskirts of town.
Every mile made me angrier.
What was Mark thinking?
Had he completely lost his mind?
Our daughter was supposed to be in school. She was fourteen, not twenty-four. She couldn’t simply decide that education was optional, and he certainly had no right to help her disappear during school hours.
