My 5-Year-Old Pointed at a Woman in the Supermarket and Said, “That’s the Lady Who Comes to Our House When You’re at Work”—I Froze as She Turned Around

maybe. Or something else. My mind would not settle on anything reasonable.

I pushed the cart toward the exit, then stopped.

My feet just stopped.

I could walk out.

I could load Leo into the car, drive home, and pretend I had never heard any of this.

I could confront Mark tonight in our kitchen where the light was soft, and I had my footing.

Or I could turn continue reading …