If you ever want to see your kids again

You're speeding home.

You plead with God, listening to the dial tone again. Pick-up, dammit!

You reach voicemail a third time. 

You have three minutes until you can skid into your driveway - three minutes of terrifying possibilities cycling through your mind.

You swerve down your neighborhood street.  Convulsing, you leap from the car, blood pulsating, prepared to commit voluntary manslaughter.  No one is downstairs.

You bound upstairs in two strides, screaming his name.  You throw his door open-

My back is facing the door.  I turn; he's drooling on my left sleeve.  I whisper, "Look!  He's finally asleep."