No one moved.
My father stared at the grill. My sister looked away. My uncle muttered, “Don’t make this bigger than it is.”
Ethan was sobbing into my shirt, his body shaking so hard I could feel his teeth knocking together. The smell of burned skin made my stomach twist.
Then, from the street, a sound shattered the afternoon.
A police siren.
Not distant.
Not passing by.
It stopped directly in front of the house.
Every face in the backyard went pale as two cruisers pulled up, followed by an ambulance, lights flashing against the white fence.
And then my husband Daniel stepped through the gate, his phone still in his hand, his face colder than I had ever seen it.
