I couldn’t speak. Because I knew it was a lie. I had personally prepared the guest room before leaving—fresh sheets, perfectly made bed, crib ready. And now my daughter was sleeping on the floor.
I wrapped my arms around her gently.
“I’m so sorry, sweetheart,” I told her. “This isn’t right. And I promise you—this won’t stand. Get some rest. I have a plan.”
She nodded, trusting me.
I checked the guest room. Everything was untouched, exactly as I’d left it. I closed the door and returned to the hallway, letting Emily sleep.
By morning, I had a plan.
At dawn, I packed a small bag and stayed briefly at a nearby motel. When I returned around 8 a.m., I carried a large cardboard box tied with a cheap ribbon.
Linda was in the kitchen, coffee in hand. She smiled brightly and asked, “Back already? Did you bring gifts?”
“Sure did,” I replied.
She eagerly opened the box. Inside were neatly folded black trash bags. Her smile vanished.
“What is this?”
I set my suitcase down.
“Packing material. For you and your daughter. You’ve got three days to move out.”
