I stood outside the operating room, staring at the closed doors, praying that I wouldn’t lose my daughter or my grandson before sunrise.
Then a deputy arrived.
His name was Brock Timmons.
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I knew exactly who he was.
Timmons drank with Cassidy’s husband, Trent Huxley, at a bar near the highway. I’d seen them together more than once. At the time, I’d considered it nothing more than a casual friendship.
Now, looking at the deputy standing in the hospital corridor with his little notebook, I began to wonder whether that friendship meant something far more troubling.Find Hospitals
He glanced at me.
“I understand there was a family disagreement.”
I stared at him, certain I’d misheard.
“My pregnant daughter was just taken into emergency surgery.”
“We still need to hear both sides of the story.”
“Her six-year-old daughter witnessed what happened.”
