Ezra

The car crawls to a stop outside a quaint little house with lush greenery and white picket fence.

My hands tighten on the wheel, stomach squeezing. Wren gives me an encouraging smile but it doesn’t seem to calm my mind.

Before and during the trip, I was fine. But now, staring at Diane’s house, I can feel the nausea rolling up my stomach.

Wren squeezes my thigh, and I inhale deeply.

“Daddy? Are we getting out?” Hannah asks.

When Wren gives me a small nod, I unclip my seatbelt ...