“Please, arrest me. I’d rather go to jail than go back to that house…”

He set it gently on the driveway and unzipped the main compartment smoothly. I held my breath for a fraction of a second, an old reflex dying hard. But inside, there was no mold-covered bread. There were no bloody, stiff bandages.

The gaping zipper revealed neatly organized, colorful schoolbooks, a pristine box of unbroken crayons, and a brightly colored continue reading …