I had hired a young man to mow the lawn while my daughter was away. Everything was going well until he called me an hour later and whispered:

“Sir, is there anyone else at home?”

I laughed nervously. “No. Why?”

A long, heavy silence fell. Then he said, “I hear crying coming from your basement. And it doesn’t sound like the television.”

I felt like the blood was draining from my leg. The front door was locked. The windows were locked. I was twenty minutes away, the keys trembling in my hand.

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