Vanessa laughed. “Where are you going? To McDonald’s? That’s more your level.”
I grabbed Lily’s backpack and Noah’s inhaler from the side table. As I moved toward the door, my father’s voice followed me.
“You walk out that door, don’t expect help from this family.”
I turned back once. “You have never helped us.”
Then I opened the door and led my children into the cold Ohio afternoon.
The Call from Inside the House
In the car, Lily finally broke down crying.
Noah whispered, “Mom, did we do something wrong?”
“No,” I said, gripping the steering wheel. “You did nothing wrong.”
A few minutes later, my phone began ringing.
First my mother called. Then Vanessa. Then my father.
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