“Dad?”
Brent Ashford was attending an important meeting at his Nashville office when an unfamiliar number appeared on his phone.
He almost ignored it, assuming it was another ordinary business call. However, something made him answer.
At first, he heard only faint background sounds and quiet movement.
Then he recognized the soft, uncertain voice of his son.
“Tyler? Why are you calling from another number? Is everything all right?”
The little boy paused, seemingly gathering the courage to explain what had happened.
“Dad… Annie hasn’t been feeling well. She’s been sleeping a lot, and she feels really warm. Mom isn’t home, and we’ve been having trouble finding something to eat.”
Brent immediately stood, pushing his chair backward.
The meeting, his colleagues, and the presentation on the screen suddenly seemed unimportant compared with what his son had just told him.
He gathered his phone and car keys before making his way toward the elevator, calling Whitney as he walked.
The call went directly to voicemail.
He tried again, but there was still no answer.
A few days earlier, Whitney had mentioned that she might take the children to a friend’s lakeside cabin, where phone reception was sometimes unreliable.
Because the children were spending that week with her, and their previously complicated co-parenting relationship had recently become more cooperative, Brent had accepted the explanation without much concern.
Now, however, he began reconsidering everything about that conversation.
He walked quickly through the parking garage, entered his vehicle, and headed toward Whitney’s rented house in East Nashville.
His thoughts raced as he attempted to contact her once more.
“Come on, Whitney… Please answer.”
Again, the call went unanswered.
A house that had fallen silent
Brent reached the property less than thirty minutes later.
The moment he stepped onto the driveway, he noticed that the house seemed unusually quiet.
