“They said you’d be angry if you found out.”
My heart hammered.
They.
Not she.
Not he.
They.
Bennett followed me for one step before stopping.
The whispering stopped suddenly.
The bedroom fell completely silent.
I closed my hand around the doorknob and opened the door several inches.
Then I froze.
The first person I saw was Lauren.
She crouched beside Bennett’s bed with one hand covering her mouth.
The second was a man I had not seen in eight years.
My father.
He looked older than I remembered. His dark hair had turned almost entirely gray, and his shoulders seemed narrower under his brown coat.
An open cardboard box sat near his feet.
Beside him, Lauren had pulled Bennett’s toy chest away from the wall.
That had made the scraping noise.
“Dad?” I whispered.
My father slowly stood.
“Ingrid.”
The sound of my name in his voice tightened something inside me.
He used to say it that way when I was a child, usually before apologizing for another broken promise.
“What are you doing here?”
Lauren stood quickly.
“Before you get angry, let me explain.”
“You told Bennett not to let anyone in?”
“No,” she answered. “Dad did.”
My father looked ashamed.
“I thought we would be gone before you got home.”
Bennett appeared behind me and wrapped his arms around my waist.
“I didn’t tell her,” he said nervously. “She came early.”
“You did nothing wrong.”
Then I looked at Lauren.
“Why were you hiding in my son’s bedroom?”
She glanced toward the open cardboard box.
“We were looking for something.”
I stared at her.
“You brought him into my house without telling me, then searched through Bennett’s room?”
“We weren’t searching through his things,” Lauren insisted. “We were checking behind the toy chest.”
“For what?”
