“Oh—wow, you really shouldn’t have,” I gape at the thick bundle of dollar bills resting in my palm. It’s a ridiculous amount of cash—almost an inconceivable amount for someone as young as me.

A fair, slim woman wearing a tight bun stands beside the door, fidgeting and stealing glances down at her wristwatch. “It’s no problem,” she speaks so softly that I have to lean forward to hear her.

Charlie, the boy I’m babysitting, is standing at the bottom of the staircase. His blonde hair is unkempt, bed-ragged—suggesting a lack of sleep. He watches me through skeptical eyes. “Who are you?”

As I open my mouth to reply, a car horn blares outside the door, and the woman jumps. “Oh—my ride is here,” she startles, her eyes misty with emotion. “Please, take special care of my little boy, okay?”

My heart lurches in my chest. I wasn’t too fond of the frightened tone in her voice nor the longing in her eyes as she gazed at her son before departing out the door.

I hear the car engine rumble to life outside, and I grab Charlie’s hand. “Let’s go wave goodbye to your mother, okay?” I encourage him, leading him to the front window. I peer through the glass in time to spot the red rear lights of the vehicle fading into the nighttime fog. The driveway is empty. His mother is gone.

Charlie gazes into the darkness and tugs on my hand. “How long will she be gone this time?”

I turn to look at him, and my eyebrows pinch in concern. “Your mother has done this before?”

Charlie doesn’t reply. He doesn’t look at me. He stares unsmiling into the gloomy night, his eyes somber—as if he had just heard a forbidden secret. His soft face holds more solemnity than any other child I have ever known.

Suddenly, it becomes evident to me that something very wrong is happening. The mother seemed conflicted when she left. Why did she go in such a rush? Who was in the car waiting for her? Where did she go? What did she plan to do? Charlie’s mother was extremely vague to me about when she would return. Sparse details. Incredible payment. The longer I reflect, the more suspicion I gain.

His mother is hiding something.

I squeeze Charlie’s hand, forgetting the money altogether. “How about I make you some cookies?” I offer. “Then you tell me everything you know about your mother.”