keeping the house spotless.
“She apologized three times for leaving a glass on the coffee table,” Mom said. “That doesn’t sound like her.”
I brushed it aside.
Middle school brought new pressures.
Children became more sensitive.
And Maya had always been mature for her age.
I had an innocent explanation for everything.
The problem was that I’d never considered what all those changes might mean together.
Until one Thursday afternoon.
I’d spent several days in Houston meeting with clients.
My return flight was supposed to get me home early that evening, but bad weather disrupted the schedule.
At noon, I sent Tiffany a text.
Flight delayed. Probably won’t be home until eight.
A little later, the airline canceled the flight altogether.
Rather than spend another night away, I rented a car and drove back to Plano.
About halfway home, I stopped at a bakery.
I bought a box of cinnamon
