Page 28 of Don't Trust Her

But how did they convince the preschool to let them pick up my kids? It’s one thing to doctor a video, but something else entirely to make Emily thinkIshowed up and signed them out. I’ve been one of their patrons for years. Everyone who works there knows me, especially Emily. We talk twice a day—when I drop off and pick up my babies.

Peter cuts the engine, and before I even have time to get out of the car, the front door of the house bursts open. Sophie runs outside, followed by her brother.

My insides turn to rubber. Now that I can see them with my own eyes, I can’t get my body to cooperate. I try to open the door, but can’t even reach it.

Peter leaps outside and picks up both kids in one swoop, swinging them around in a circle.

Tears fill my eyes, and I finally get my muscles to cooperate. As soon as my husband sets the kids down, I wrap my arms around them and tell them how much I love them.

Mom comes out to the porch. “Do you always greet them with so much enthusiasm?”

“Yes,” I say quickly. The last thing I want is to tell her what happened.

I don’t even know what happened. But the most important thing is that my kids are safe. I can’t see even a scratch on them.

A crash sounds from inside the house.

Mom inches toward the door. “I better see what he’s doing now. I told the kids I’ll visit them at your house soon.”

“Perfect!” I squeeze my precious little children again.

“Grandpa likes to break things,” Sophie says.

“He’s confused.” Peter motions toward the car. “Let’s go home, shall we?”

The kids don’t need to be told twice. Both of them scramble into the back. Owen buckles himself into his car seat while I help Sophie. Owen, as usual, asks about graduating to a booster seat. I think he might be close to legal requirements, but I’m not ready to let him out of the safer option just yet. And after everything we’ve been through today, I’m even more concerned about their safety than before.

I change the subject before Peter pulls back onto the road. “Who picked you two up from school?”

“You, silly.” Sophie giggles and kicks the back of my seat.

“Are you sure about that?” I ask.

“Yeah. You were wearing that purple shirt you always do.”

Everything disappears around me. None of this is possible. It would be one thing to trick the preschool receptionist that I picked them up, but to convince my kids? And to wear my tank top again?

I was with Megan at the restaurant when all of this happened. There’s no way I had a memory lapse. Irememberbeing there with her. We talked, laughed, and made plans.

Megan! She was heading to our house, and I didn’t tell her we were leaving.

I send her a quick text letting her know we found the kids safe and sound, then I apologize for leaving without telling her.

She replies that she’s so happy and relieved to hear they’re okay, and that she let herself in and made a casserole from the things she found in the fridge.

Could I have a better best friend?

When we get home, the kids run in and throw their arms around Megan. She hugs and kisses them before getting them a snack.

I collapse onto a kitchen chair. “You really didn’t have to do all of that.”

“What are friends for?” She glances around the kids to the family room. “Do you want to talk?”

“I don’t know what I want.” I rub my temples.

“Why don’t you go upstairs and lie down? You look like something the dog dragged in.”

“We don’t have a dog.” Sophie giggles.

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