She didn't answer.
I sent a text.
No response.
I waited thirty minutes.
Nothing.
Normally I wouldn't have worried.
But parents sometimes forget how much children absorb from everyday conversations.
Had Noah misunderstood something?
Or was there actually a hidden room?
The more I thought about it, the more curious I became.
Finally, I decided to drive to their house.
Not because I expected danger.
Not because I suspected wrongdoing.
Mostly because I wanted reassurance.
The house looked perfectly normal when I arrived.
My daughter's car sat in the driveway.
The porch light glowed softly.
Everything appeared exactly as it always had.
My daughter opened the front door before I even knocked.
“Mom? What are you doing here?”
“I was in the neighborhood,” I lied.
She narrowed her eyes immediately.
“Mhm.”
She had inherited my ability to recognize weak excuses.
“Okay,” I admitted. “Noah told me something strange.”
Her expression changed.
“What did he say?”
“He said you and Jason have a secret room behind a fake wall in the garage.”
For a moment she stared at me.
Then she burst out laughing.
Not nervous laughter.
Not forced laughter.
Real laughter.
The kind that makes it difficult to breathe.
When she finally recovered, she called for her husband.