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By Erin Stevenson

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“Daddy, Shelbie dropped her sippy!”
If April hadn’t announced it so clearly, Shelbie’s ear-piercing scream would have alerted Brandon St. Clair that something had gone very wrong in the back seat. He tried to make eye contact with his daughters in the rearview mirror, but could only see their shadowy outlines in the darkness.
“April, honey, we’re almost to Uncle Landon’s,” he said. “Can you—” then he stopped himself. You were about to ask a 4-year-old to climb out of her car seat to get her sister’s sippy cup off the floor, while you’re whizzing along the interstate at 65 miles an hour? What kind of lousy dad are you?
Brandon switched the windshield wipers to high as the rain pelted down even harder. He could barely see, and it was pitch black. He consulted his phone in its dash holder, guiding him to his brother’s house in suburban St. Louis. Thank God, they would be there in sixteen minutes. It was almost midnight.
He had fully intended to be there long before now, but everything that could go wrong at the hospital had gone wrong today. He’d had to cover for another doctor, and the surgical schedule was backed up. So much for Fridays being a lighter day.
By the time he’d picked up the girls from the sitter’s, gotten them fed (with yet another fast-food meal), and arrived home to pack for the trip, they were already well behind schedule. Then Brandon realized he hadn’t put the last load of the girls’ laundry into the dryer last night, so he had to make a decision: delay their start by another hour, or take the damp clothes with them?
A trash bag filled with damp clothes rested next to their suitcases in the back.
A flash of lightning and simultaneous crash of thunder shook the vehicle, and Brandon tightened his grip on the wheel while easing his foot from the gas.
“Daddy, I’m scared!” April cried.
“I want Mommy!” Shelbie screamed.
I want Mommy, too, Brandon thought as he blinked back tears. Oh God, why, why did you take her?

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