We had two daughters.
Kayla was seventeen.
Reese was eight.
Despite the nine-year age difference, they were incredibly close.
Kayla had always treated Reese like a little shadow she was responsible for protecting.
She braided Reese’s hair before school.
Let her follow along when she went shopping.
Sat patiently through the endless pretend radio programs Reese recorded on a little pink tape recorder she had received for her seventh birthday.
Then Kayla met Steven.
He was a senior at her school.
Polished.
Confident.
Captain of the debate team.
Teachers liked him.
Parents trusted him.
And in the beginning, so did I.
He was always polite.
Always said please and thank you.
Always asked how my day had been.
He visited our house so often that eventually we gave him the spare-key code.
