At a neighborhood cookout, Michael overheard two men murmuring before his approach. Their words hushed, replaced by tight smiles. He caught only fragments—“she managed” and “rough patch.” He assumed they meant bills or stress, but their pitying looks clung to him like burrs. He laughed pleasantly at them, unsettled inside.
That night, tucking Emily into bed, she whispered sleepily. “He said he would keep me safe. Wonder when I’ll see him again.” She clutched her bear, eyes wide with solemnity. Michael kissed her hair, forcing calm, though her words gnawed at him long after she drifted into sleep. It could have been the ramblings of a child dreaming too.