of Laya.
This was shocking. Evelyn Hart did not crouch. She sat on furniture that cost five figures. But there she was, lowering herself to my daughter’s eye level on the dirty sidewalk.
“You’re Laya, right?”
“Yes,” Laya whispered.
Evelyn’s expression softened, just for a moment. “That’s a beautiful name.”
Then she stood, eyes turning back to me. The softness continue reading …
