“Please don’t.”
Sloane looked at me.
Her lips moved, but nothing came out.
“We can leave if it’s too much.”
I knelt carefully.
“You don’t have to say anything, sweetheart.”
She gripped her book tighter.
Then she began crying.
Her father carried her outside.
I watched them go.
She began crying.
At the time, I thought the book was simply something she’d brought for comfort.
I didn’t know Weston had written inside it.
***
A few months later, Sloane’s family moved away.
I didn’t know Weston had written inside it.
Reporters recognized their daughter in stores and asked questions no seven-year-old should have had to answer.
Her parents wanted her to have an ordinary childhood, and I understood.
Eventually, we lost contact.
Her parents wanted her to have an ordinary childhood.
Weston’s room became a guest room, although I kept a box of his things in the closet.