The Photo Vanessa Sent
By the time we finished eating, I had six missed calls, twelve text messages, and one photo from Vanessa that I refused to open while my children were with me.
I paid the bill, left Marlene a tip I could hardly afford, and drove home through streets bordered by bare trees and old snow.
Noah fell asleep first, his head tilted against the car seat. Lily stayed awake, clutching the small cardboard box Marlene had given her with two cookies inside.
“Mom?” she said softly.
“Yes, sweetheart?”
“Can we not go there anymore?”
Her voice was so tiny it nearly disappeared under the heater’s hum.
I looked at her through the rearview mirror. “We are not going back there for a long time.”
“Ever?”
