I wasn’t supposed to arrive until the following afternoon.

At least, that was the plan.

But I had spent the entire week baking Emily’s favorite apple pie and thinking about how happy she sounded during our last phone call.

Or rather… how hard she had tried to sound happy.

Something about her voice had lingered in my mind.

The forced cheerfulness.

The careful choice of words.

The way she always paused before answering questions about her husband.

A mother’s instincts don’t disappear when her children grow up.