My 11-year-old pulled me behind a pillar at the mall—what we saw my mother-in-law doing made us hide, and by morning, two people had gone pale

outside.

“No,” I said.

She grinned.

“Good answer.”

Then her expression became serious.

“Do you still think about the mall?”

“Sometimes.”

“I do too.”

I sat beside her on the front steps.

She told me the most frightening part wasn’t seeing Margaret with Victor. It was hearing her grandmother casually describe our daily routine.

“She knew when I left for school,continue reading …