the breach.
Daisy was eleven now—tall, opinionated, fiercely protective of our peace. She was doing homework when her phone buzzed. She frowned at the screen, then slowly slid it across the cushion toward me.
“I didn’t give her the number,” Daisy said, voice tight. “I swear.”
A voicemail notification. Grandma.
My blood ran cold. My mother had hunted down continue reading …
