it.
The officer glanced at me, then at the yard full of luggage, then back at Lauren.
“Ma’am, who owns the property?”
Lauren opened her mouth.
My mother answered first.
“It’s a family home.”
“No,” I said. “It isn’t.”
Mom snapped her head toward me.
“Claire.”
The way she said my name made me nine years old again, standing in the kitchen after Lauren broke a continue reading …
