I looked at her and said softly, “I’m working on it, sweetie.”
Meanwhile, Laura started coming to the house as if she belonged there. They sat together in the living room, or locked themselves in the bedroom while I moved silently through the halls.
My daughter would put on her headphones, pretending not to hear.
I stood in the kitchen, reminding myself to breathe. Falling apart wasn’t an option.
My other three children called that night. They offered to come home, but I told them not to. I needed to handle this myself.
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