As I read the text message, my heart dropped.
There’s a shooting. We’re hiding in a basement.
My son, usually one to use correct grammar, punctuation, and spelling, sent a second message that I could barely make out.
Weeee hiding in the base of Tropicana. Everyone is running and screaming.
Where are mom and dad? My fingers were shaking as I typed the words.
In here with us. There are 12 of us. Yιαγιά tripped.
My mom fell? My heart was in my throat by this point. I asked him for more details about the shooter.
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