The deeper we got into her neighborhood, the more extravagant the decorations became. And then there was Evelyn’s house. Of course, hers had to be the grandest of them all. There were giant animatronic bats flapped above the driveway and a life-sized witch stirred a fake cauldron by the door. The whole place screamed money and perfection.
Except perfection didn’t include my daughter.
I didn’t bother ringing the bell. I pushed the door open and walked straight inside. The maid, startled, stepped back immediately. “Mrs. Evelyn is outside with the guests,” she said softly, eyes flicking nervously toward the back garden.
I didn’t answer. I was already scanning the room, and then I saw her. Amelia sat alone on the velvet couch, still in her black Wednesday Addams dress. Her little braids had come loose, and black streaks of mascara ran down her cheeks where she’d cried. She clutched her trick-or-treat bag like it was a lifeline.
“Mommy!” she cried when she saw me.
I dropped to my knees and pulled her into my arms. “I’m here, baby. It’s okay,” I whispered, brushing her hair from her face. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”
Michael knelt beside us. He pressed a kiss to the top of Amelia’s head before standing abruptly. “I’ll take care of this,” he said quietly. I followed him as he strode toward the patio doors.
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