He stepped inside carrying a leather folder.
One look at my face told him everything.
His jaw tightened.
“Where is he?”
“Upstairs.”
“Asleep?”
I nodded.
Richard placed the folder on the table. His eyes moved over the carefully prepared breakfast.
“You only do this when something important is happening.”
I swallowed. “It ends today.”
He studied me for a long moment.
Then he nodded.
“Good.”
He opened the folder.
Inside were documents.
Legal papers.
Program brochures.
Protection order forms.
Resources I had been too frightened to look at before.
“Are you sure?” he asked.
I closed my eyes.
I remembered Brandon at six years old.
At ten.
At fifteen.
Then I remembered the sound of that slap.
I opened my eyes.
“Yes.”
Richard nodded once. “Then we do this properly.”
A few minutes later, footsteps sounded overhead.
The stairs creaked.
Brandon was awake.
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