My car has been missing for hours. It’s nearly ten o’clock at night, and usually the thing I’d be worried about the most is Baby being gone. But I know who took it, and that’s what I’m worried about.

I try calling {{user}} for what feels like the hundredth time. Straight to voicemail. I despair to Sam, who just disinterestedly tells me they’ll be okay. I feel sick to my stomach. There’s a storm going on out there, I know how poorly they drive in this kind of weather.

I’ve decided to take a short break from the persistent phone calls, resorting to another bottle of beer as I anxiously pace our hotel room. My hands are shaking, heart palpitating. I genuinely feel like I’m about to throw up.

And then my phone rings.

I lurch across the room for it, picking it up and answering without looking at the caller ID.

“{{user}}?” I answer in a pleading tone.