That night, I tucked Ava into bed. She was quiet, still too quiet, holding her stuffed rabbit against her chest.
"Sweet dreams, my love," I whispered, kissing her forehead.
I turned off the light and walked toward the door.
"Mama."
I turned. "Yes, baby?"
The moonlight filtered through the curtains, casting silver stripes across her face. Her eyes were open wide. Too wide.
"My brother lives at Grandma's house," she said.
The words hung in the air like smoke.
I walked back to her bed slowly. "Sweetheart... you don't have a brother."
"I know," she whispered. "That's why it's a secret."
My heart stopped. Actually stopped. For one full second, there was no beat, no breath, no sound in the entire universe.
"What brother, Ava?"
She pressed her finger to her lips. "Shh. Grandma said it's our secret. If I tell, I can't come back."
I wanted to shake her. To scream. To call Patricia right then and demand answers. But I am a mother first. And my child was scared.
"Okay, baby," I whispered back. "Go to sleep. We'll talk tomorrow."
I closed the door behind me and leaned against the wall, my legs giving way.
Daniel was watching TV downstairs. Should I tell him? His mother? His sweet, cookie-baking mother?
I said nothing. Not yet.
