My mind raced through the possibilities.
Was it something about the trip, or was it more personal?
Had I missed signs at home, subtle shifts in our routine?
The stranger near our house, the drained phone battery, the quiet conversations.
How did it all piece together?
My daughter looked up, catching my eye briefly before returning to her screen.
Her expression was unreadable, a typical teenage mask.
I wanted to ask her if she felt anything was amiss.
But the words stuck in my throat, unspoken.
She was growing up, carving out her own space.
And I respected that, even if it meant a distance I sometimes found difficult.
But this was different.
The train manager would surely have answers.
My heart pounded with a mix of dread and anticipation as we approached the next stop.
What would I learn?
Could I handle the truth?
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