My 8-Year-Old Son Was Missing for a Month—Then My 5-Year-Old Daughter Pointed at the House Across the Street

PART 3

Mason suddenly grabbed my wrist.
“Mommy, we have to leave.”

I dropped to my knees beside him. His little body was trembling so violently that his teeth were chattering.
“Of course, sweetheart. We’re going home. You’re safe now.”

“No.” He shook his head frantically. “Not home.”

I stared at him.

“What do you mean?”

Mason glanced toward the open bedroom door.

“The man said our house wasn’t safe.”

A cold feeling crept through my stomach.

“What man?”

“The one who came before Grandma Elvira locked the door. He wore a black coat. He had a ring on his finger, and he smelled like Daddy’s car.”