I knew something was wrong when my eight-year-old son came running into my bedroom before sunrise, barefoot and out of breath.
“Mom, don’t go outside yet.”
That was enough to get me out of bed.
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I knew something was wrong when my eight-year-old son came running into my bedroom before sunrise, barefoot and out of breath.
“Mom, don’t go outside yet.”
That was enough to get me out of bed.
I woke up at three in the morning to the sound of someone moving around downstairs, followed by a voice counting steadily through the…