At the Bus Depot at Dawn

I checked my daughter’s phone location at 4:12 a.m. And felt my stomach drop.

My daughter, Noah, 15 years old, should’ve been asleep. School in the morning.

Alarm set. Lights off. But her room was silent. Too silent.

Bed empty. Hoodie gone. Backpack missing. I grabbed her phone from the charger.

Unlocked it. Location. One dot. Active. Right now.

The city bus depot. Why is my kid at a bus depot before sunrise? I didn’t call.

Didn’t text. I drove. I parked across the street. Watched.

Then I saw her. Sitting on the curb. Next to an older man. A suitcase between