Chapter 4: The Nursery

The next morning I called the sheriff's office myself.

I asked for an escort to my own house, to pick up my daughter's things and my own.

The same young deputy came, and he sat in the farmhouse kitchen with his hat on his knee while Byron poured him coffee.

"I can't make anybody open a door," he said. "But I can stand there while you knock."

"That's all I'm asking," I said.

Byron stayed home with Poppy.

I had tried to take her with me, and he said, "Let me have her for an hour," and I hadn't known I could say yes until I heard myself do it.

The deputy drove me to Alder Street in his cruiser.

Two neighbors were already on the sidewalk with coffee mugs.

One had her phone up.

Daphne's white SUV was in my driveway.

The front door opened before I knocked.

Daphne stood there in my gray cardigan, the one I'd bought in Vermont on our honeymoon, with her bare feet on my doormat.

"Lacey," she said softly. "Please. Let's do this like adults."

"That's my sweater," I said.

"Brady said it was fine."

"Of course he did."

The deputy cleared his throat.

"Ma'am, she's here to collect her belongings. Step aside, please."

Daphne stepped aside.

I walked into my own front hall and stopped.

My coat hooks were bare.

My shoes were gone from the rack, and a row of Daphne's heels stood in their place.

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