“What?”
“I’m sorry.”
“Why did you lock me in here?”
Footsteps came from the kitchen.
“Mom?”
Tyler appeared holding two cans of soda.
He looked at the locked door.
Then at me.
“What are you doing?”
“Tyler, put those down.”
“What?”
Noah knocked hard.
“Tyler!”
Tyler’s face changed.
“Mom, open the door.”
“I need you to listen to me.”
“Why is Noah locked in our basement?”
“I need to make a phone call.”
He stared at me.
“Are you serious?”
“Yes.”
“Open the door!”
“I will.”
“When?”
“When the police get here.”
His mouth fell open.
“The police?”
Noah shouted from downstairs.
“I haven’t done anything!”
“I know,” I called back.
Tyler looked at me as if I’d lost my mind.
“Then why are you calling the police?”
I walked toward the cabinet beside the dining room.
There was an old photo album on the bottom shelf.
My hands shook as I opened it.
