He tried again, but there was still no answer.

A few days earlier, Whitney had mentioned that she might take the children to a friend’s lakeside cabin, where phone reception was sometimes unreliable.

Because the children were spending that week with her, and their previously complicated co-parenting relationship had recently become more cooperative, Brent had accepted the explanation without much concern.

Now, however, he began reconsidering everything about that conversation.

He walked quickly through the parking garage, entered his vehicle, and headed toward Whitney’s rented house in East Nashville.

His thoughts raced as he attempted to contact her once more.

“Come on, Whitney… Please answer.”

Again, the call went unanswered.

A house that had fallen silent

Brent reached the property less than thirty minutes later.

The moment he stepped onto the driveway, he noticed that the house seemed unusually quiet.

The porch was missing the familiar collection of children’s toys, the music Whitney often played was absent, and nothing moved behind the windows.

He approached the front entrance and knocked.