The porch was missing the familiar collection of children’s toys, the music Whitney often played was absent, and nothing moved behind the windows.
He approached the front entrance and knocked.
“Tyler, it’s Dad. Please open the door.”
Nobody answered immediately.
Brent gently tried the handle and discovered that the door was unlocked.
He stepped inside, calling his son’s name again.
Then he saw Tyler.
The little boy was sitting on the living room carpet, holding a decorative pillow against his chest.
His blond hair was slightly untidy, and his expression suggested that he had been waiting anxiously for someone familiar to arrive.
When he noticed his father, he slowly looked up.
“I thought maybe you weren’t going to come.”
Brent crossed the room and knelt beside him.
“I’m here now,” he reassured him softly. “Where is your sister?”
Tyler pointed toward the sofa.
Annie was resting beneath a blanket, her cheeks noticeably flushed and her small face looking unusually tired.
She appeared uncomfortable and responded only briefly when Brent spoke to her.
He gently placed his hand against her forehead and realized that she felt quite warm.
When he carefully lifted her into his arms, she rested against his shoulder, clearly needing attention and rest.
Brent understood that getting professional medical advice was the most important thing he could do.
“We’re going to leave now. Get your shoes, sweetheart. Stay close to me, and we’ll make sure everything is okay.”
Tyler stood immediately and reached for his sneakers.
“Is she just sleeping?”
Brent gave him a reassuring look.
“She’s not feeling her best, buddy. We’re going to see someone who can help her feel better.”
As he carried Annie toward the entrance, Brent glanced briefly into the kitchen.
An opened cereal carton sat on the countertop, several dishes remained in the sink, and the refrigerator contained very few groceries.
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