"They're sleeping."
"They're sick."
"You miss them too much."
I told myself grief had changed Reena. I told myself she was overwhelmed. I told myself patience was the right thing to give.
Then Drew came across my yard.
My six-year-old nephew was pulling himself forward with both hands. His hair was stuck to his forehead, his face was covered in dirt, and one leg dragged behind him in a way that made my entire body freeze. Lily was wrapped around him, shaking and crying, holding onto her brother because he was the only person she trusted in that moment.
Then Drew looked at me and whispered the words I will never forget.
"She locked us in there again."
Suddenly, every excuse I had accepted sounded different.
MY 6-YEAR-OLD NEPHEW DRAGGED HIS BROKEN LEG SEVEN SIDEWALK BLOCKS TO MY HOUSE WITH HIS 3-YEAR-OLD SISTER CRYING IN HIS ARMS. THEN HE WHISPERED: "SHE LOCKED US IN THERE AGAIN."
