When I got home from work, my 6-year-old daughter Laya was curled in my arms, wheezing so hard her little fox pajamas moved with every shallow breath.
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Chapter 8 / 10
CHAPTER 8 — THE HOUSE THAT STOPPED BELONGING TO THEM
That night, Scott changed the locks.
Not out of anger.
Out of closure.
Laya woke briefly in her room.
“Are they still here?”
Scott sat beside her bed.
“No.”
She nodded.
Then asked:
“Did they go to the steakhouse again?”
Scott almost smiled.
“No, sweetheart. They went somewhere they can’t make decisions for us anymore.”
She thought about that.
May you like
Then rolled over.
And went back to sleep.
