The officer’s gaze was steady but not unfriendly. “We received a report of a possible emergency situation here. Could we come in and talk?”
My mind whirled, trying to piece together what could have triggered this visit. I glanced at the box of neglected graduation souvenirs and the unopened mail scattered on the entryway table. “Um, sure,” I replied, stepping aside to let them enter.
Once inside, the officers looked around, taking in the modest apartment with its mismatched furniture and sparse decor. “We were contacted by your mother,” the first officer explained, his tone professional yet slightly apologetic, as if he was used to delivering unwelcome news. “She said she was concerned when she couldn’t reach you.”
