A black safe lay on the bed. In the dim, fading light of early evening, a veil of shadow draped itself over the safe. Rachel Foster sat at the bedside, quietly gazing at it, her heart pounding more fiercely than usual. Suddenly, she reached out and took hold of the safe.
Just as she was about to open it, a tender, youthful voice called from outside, "Mommy, Mommy––"
"Yes, Mommy's here," she replied softly.
Her motions halted. Quickly, she stowed away her suitcase in the wardrobe and opened the door.
With a bright smile, Little Jackson wrapped his arms around her legs and looked up at her with an impish, adorable expression. "Mommy, you come home and just stay in your room – you never play with me," he pouted.
Gently, Rachel ruffled his soft head. "I'm sorry, little one, but Mommy has something to care for today."
"I need a hug from Mommy…" he pleaded, his tone a sweet mix of mischief and yearning.
