“Go pack your things.”
Mallory stared at me.
“You’re taking me home?”
“Yes.”
“Even after what I did?”
“You don’t stop being my daughter because you did something terrible.”
Her face crumpled.
“But this isn’t over, Mallory. We’re going home. We’re telling the police the truth. We’re telling your school. Kendra is telling her parents. And you and I are going to spend a long time fixing what both of us broke.”
She nodded through her tears.
Then she whispered, “Do I still have my room?”
That question hurt more than almost anything else that night.
“Your room is exactly where you left it.”
Mallory came down the last step and wrapped her arms around me.
For one second, I remained stiff.
Then I held her so tightly that she began crying against my shoulder like she had when she was little.
Before we left, Corinne came over to me.
