April announced around the lump in her throat as she bounded through the front door of her house. “Where’s Elijah?” She did a quick scan of the family room, looking for her little boy, but found only her mother, Ellen, sitting comfortably on the sofa with a book in her lap. “Is he okay? You told me to come home.” Panicked, April headed toward the staircase. The need to see her child had her pulse thrumming in her ears. “April”—her mother’s calm voice permeated April’s hysteria—“Eli is fine. He’s sleeping like the angel he is, so relax.” Ellen sighed and closed her book. Relax? April thought as she ascended the stairs. Her mother’s phone call had shaved years off her life, and now the woman told her to relax? No, April needed to see her baby with her own two eyes before any relaxing could commence. Gingerly, so as to avoid the squeaky hinge, she opened her son’s bedroom door and crept into the softly lit room. When her eyes landed on the small form snuggled tightly in the middle of the bed, April felt as if the boulder she’d been lugging around for more than fifteen minutes disappeared, leaving nothing but dust and unpleasant memories of its existence.
