I glanced in the mirror and saw her cheeks flushed with sleep, her lashes resting against skin so soft it almost hurt to look at. She had no idea that my mother had just referred to her like an inconvenience. She had no idea the people she should have been able to trust had already decided she was too much.
A sign for a rest stop appeared ahead. Without thinking, I signaled and took the exit.
The parking lot was half full of trucks and tired sedans. Winter had stripped the trees down to dark bones. A dead patch of grass shivered in the wind beside the curb. I parked beneath a bare maple and put the car in park, but I did not turn off the engine. I just sat there with my phone in my lap and my breath coming too fast.
I read the message again.
Voir la suite dans la page suivante:
