Missing Day (a very short story)
They heard the screen door slam shut at the crack of dawn. Frank Burnett reached for Trish across the bed and held her in his arms. She was a mother after all. Her son was only 11.
Far too many hours later, the two of them sat at the kitchen table, staring at the ticking clock above the kitchen sink. It was ten minutes past midnight. More specifically it was ten minutes into Monday, June 21. She would only give him five more minutes before calling the police. She was a mother after all. He was only 11.
The screen door opened; then banged closed. Frank watched as she placed the phone back in its cradle then moved to give her son a hug. She was a mother after all. He was only 11.
Punishment, they all knew, would come in the morning, just as it had the year before, and the year before that, and the year before that. She was a mother after all. He was only 11.
As for Frank, another Father's Day had come and gone.