“You’ve been sleeping on this floor for four nights?”
“It was my idea.”
“No 12-year-old chooses the kitchen floor.”
“I did.”
She looked toward the hallway to make sure Gladys couldn’t hear.
“She keeps waking up scared.”
“So?”
“If she doesn’t see someone nearby, she panics.”
I frowned.
“Why your room?”
Mia hesitated.
“Because she thinks it’s hers.”
Kyle returned a moment later.
He looked exhausted.
Dark circles framed his eyes, his shirt was wrinkled, and his hair looked as though he hadn’t slept in days.
“When were you planning to tell me your mother came back?” I asked.
His shoulders sagged.
“I found out four days ago.”
