“It’s 7:32,” I replied, forcing a smile.
“That is late.”
Meadow buried her face against my coat.
“Be good for Grandma,” I told her softly.
Judith’s eyes drifted over the braids. “We need to talk about this hair obsession.”
“She’s eight.”
“She spends too much time looking at herself.”
I should have turned around. I should have put Meadow back into the car. I should have listened to the warning moving through my body like icy water.
But I had a staff meeting. I had overdue book reports. I had built a life around convincing myself things weren’t as bad as they felt.
So I kissed my daughter’s forehead and drove away.
Twenty-seven hours later, I came back early because the school library basement flooded during a thunderstorm. I thought I would surprise Meadow. Maybe we would go home and bake banana bread. Maybe we’d paint her nails lavender and watch an old movie.
