But I didn’t ask Sara or bring up my mother. A part of me felt tired and strange, like an animal in a new habitat. Ninety days doesn’t seem very long, but I’d grown accustomed to my life at the center—the routines, the meetings, the food, the isolation … wash, rinse, repeat.

Also, I didn’t want to grow too attached to this place; to become too ensconced in this family. I’ll be leaving soon, I reminded myself. Maybe it’s better if I don’t ask too many questions while I’m here…

“Thanks again for letting me come, and for watching over Gemma while I was away,” I said, softly. Sara nodded, but she was still far away and dreamy, and I wasn’t certain she had heard me.

In the library, I scooped up my luggage and made my way toward the steep red staircase. The girls were still playing. I could hear the shuffle and whir of toys on hardwood, and laughter like Christmas bells floating from the rooms above.

Grateful for another moment with my daughter, I started climbing. But before I made it halfway to the top of the staircase, Francis bellowed from somewhere in the belly of the house, “Girls! Time to come downstairs. Susie, your mom will be here any minute! And Gemma, you need to finish your homework and get ready for school tomorrow…”

School. I knew they had signed her up for first grade at the local public school, and I prayed she wouldn’t miss her newly made friends when I transferred her back to school in Chicago. We have so much to talk about, details to work out … and oh, how much I have missed. My daughter’s first day of first grade, a moment I’ll never get back…

I sighed, reaching the landing just as the girls came bounding down a narrow hallway, straight toward me.

Susie flew on by me, tiny feet pounding the steps in a hurry to greet her mom. Gemma was set to follow, but she stopped beside me on the landing. She had grown taller, I noticed, her cheek at my hip-level now, and she grabbed onto my leg and squeezed so hard, like she never wanted to let me go.

“Oh, sweetheart.” Again, I dropped down on my knees to see her, pulling her in for a tight squeeze. “I’m so happy to be here with you and I’m sorry I was gone for so long.”

“Me too, Mommy.” Her eyes darted toward the staircase. I could hear Francis somewhere down below, asking Susie where Gemma was. Why does he seem so controlling? Am I being paranoid or is he really this ridiculous?! I wondered.

“I got the letter you sent,” I told Gemma. “Why do you hate it here?”

Gemma’s eyes widened for a moment, and again, she glanced down the stairs, waiting for Francis to appear.