Layla
“Mommy, I’m scared,” Eli whispered, his voice ragged in the dimness of the warehouse. My hand still wrapped around his as we crept through the shadows around the perimeter of the open room.
A few hundred feet away, the door to the warehouse creaked open. I crouched lower, praying the shadows would hide us. Praying they hadn’t spotted us or heard us.
“I know, baby,” I murmured, tugging him with me behind a large piece of what looked like landscaping equipment. They hadn’t spotted us. Here, I could hide. Here, I could make a stand. “But you’re my brave boy.”
“Like Daddy?” Eli asked, and I thought maybe the faintest thread of hope wove through those two tiny words.
“Yeah.” I nudged him further behind the tractor. Out of sight. Safe. “Just like Daddy. You’re so much like your father
