“Mom?” she said softly.
“Yes, sweetheart?”
“Can we not go there anymore?”
Her voice was so tiny it nearly disappeared under the heater’s hum.
I looked at her through the rearview mirror. “We are not going back there for a long time.”
“Ever?”
I wanted to say yes right away. I wanted to promise her that the house with green shutters and a polished dining table would never hurt her again. But I had spent too many years making promises around people who broke them.
So I gave her the truest answer I could.
“I will not take you anywhere people make you feel unwanted.”
Lily nodded and hugged the cookie box against her chest.
At home, I got them bathed, changed into pajamas, and settled on the couch with a movie. Then I went into the kitchen, opened Vanessa’s photo, and saw the dining room wrecked.
The tablecloth was stained. Chairs had been shoved back. One plate lay broken on the floor. My nephew Carter sat against the wall with a towel around his shoulders. My niece Madison was crying into her mother’s lap. My mother was on a stretcher near the front door, surrounded by paramedics.
