I received a call from my wife's phone 15 minutes after I got to work Wednesday. I cheerfully answered, only to be greeted by a meek voice.
"Daddy?" my daughter asked hushed tones. It sounded like she had been crying.
"What are you doing on Mommy's phone, Phoebe?" I asked sharply. "Is everything OK?"
"Daddy, something bad happened," she said, holding back a slight sniffle.
Obviously, my wife was in some kind of danger and was incapacitated because she wasn't calling me herself. And my daughter, being the smart one of our two kids, snatched her iPhone and dialed me quickly — just as we taught her to.
My mind started to race. They had been in a nasty car accident, and Phoebe had been thrown clear of the wreckage, along with the phone.
Or they were at the bank, and had been taken hostage by bank robbers. Phoebe was calling me as she hid in one of the cubicles.