David found Reese sitting quietly on the edge of her own bed.
His electric razor was on the nightstand.
Her face was pale.
But she didn’t look sorry.
“Reese,” I said, struggling to keep my voice steady. “What did you do?”
She looked at me.
“I saved her the only way I knew how.”
I nearly lost my temper.
This was my eight-year-old daughter.
The same little girl who still climbed into Kayla’s bed during thunderstorms.
How could she possibly have an explanation for shaving her sister’s head the morning of prom?
Then the front door opened downstairs.
Steven had arrived.
He came upstairs and froze when he saw Kayla standing under the bright bathroom lights.
For half a second, his expression went completely blank.
Then concern appeared.
