It was 97 degrees, windows cracked, sun glaring off the dashboard. I turned down the music and asked if she wanted water. Nothing.<\/p>\n
My daughter just stared out the window, sweat dotting her upper lip, mouth slightly open. Then she whispered, \u201cThe lady in the tree told me not to go home.\u201d<\/p>\n
I glanced in the rearview mirror. \u201cWhat lady, baby?\u201d<\/p>\n
She blinked slow. \u201cThe one behind the glass.\u201d<\/p>\n
I turned fully in my seat. \u201cWhat glass?\u201d<\/p>\n
The one in your bathroom.\u201d<\/p>\n
My heart hiccuped. We\u2019d left the house less than an hour ago. She\u2019d been quietly coloring while I packed her bag. The only mirror in the bathroom is above the sink\u2014across from the window that faces the woods.<\/p>\n
She tugged at her dress, twisting it in knots. \u201cShe said you\u2019re not Mommy anymore. She said you\u2019re only wearing her.\u201d<\/p>\n
I laughed. Too loud. Tried to play it off like a game. \u201cDid you make her up, silly goose?\u201d<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"