It was peaceful.
Maybe too peaceful.
On Sunday evening, I drove to Margaret’s house to pick Ava up. She ran to me the moment I stepped out of the car, her hair slightly tangled and her cheeks flushed from playing outside.
“We made cookies!” she announced before I could even say hello. “And Grandma let me stay up past bedtime!”
Margaret smiled from the doorway. Everything looked ordinary. Warm. Safe.
Nothing felt out of place.
That illusion lasted until bedtime.
After her bath, Ava disappeared into her room while I folded laundry in the hallway. I could hear her moving things around and humming softly. She often talks to herself while she plays, creating little storylines involving animals and superheroes.
Then I heard it.
“What should I give my brother when I go back to Grandma’s?”
My hands froze on a towel.
