Daniel folded the paper slowly. “Why only milk?”
Annie looked down at Noah. “Because one glass is enough for him.”
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01:31
Mute
“And you?”
She shrugged, but it was too tired to be brave. “I can fight it better.”
The sentence landed in the foyer like a dropped stone.
Behind Daniel was a kitchen with a refrigerator full of food. A pantry full of things he had not noticed in months. A house with rooms no one used and lights kept on because darkness was inconvenient, not dangerous.
In front of him stood a child who had learned to measure need in half glasses.
Clare lowered her voice. “Daniel, we should call the authorities or the hospital. We can’t just—”
“She’s coming in,” Daniel said.
Clare stared at him. “Daniel.”
He turned slightly, but his eyes stayed on Annie. “There is milk in the refrigerator.”
Annie did not move. “I can wait outside.”
“No.”
“I won’t touch anything.”
“I said no.” His voice softened. “Come inside. Noah will have milk. You’ll have something too.”
“I don’t have money.”
“I didn’t ask for money.”
“Are you going to call somebody to take us away?”
“No,” Daniel said. “I’m going to call the hospital. But first, you’re going to sit down.”
Annie stepped over the threshold as if crossing into a museum where one wrong move could set off alarms. She kept Noah close. She avoided the walls. She glanced at the marble floor beneath her shoes and tried to place each step where she would leave the least evidence.
Daniel saw it and said nothing.
Some kinds of dignity grew smaller when pointed out.
In the kitchen, Annie climbed onto the edge of a stool, holding Noah in her lap. Clare stood near the entrance with her arms folded tightly, watching as if usefulness might protect her from emotion.
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