And now I was wondering if I’d taught my daughter so well that she’d open the door to my house for her father just to keep him comfortable.
Near Cincinnati, my phone buzzed.
It was Lauren.
Not a call. A text.
Mom, are you ok? Dad just texted me that the police are at your house and that you’re “making a scene.” What is going on?? I thought you said it was ok??
I read it twice.
I thought you said it was ok.
Rachel saw my face. “What?”
I showed her.
She read it and pressed her lips together. “Call her,” she said. “Not text. Call.”
I called.
Lauren picked up on the first ring. She was already crying.
“Mom—”
“Lauren. I need you to tell me everything. Slowly. And I need you to tell me the truth, even if you think I’m going to be upset.”
