— he thought.
He rose and went to Mary’s room. The door was slightly open. On the small bed, Lily slept curled against Mary. The child’s hand gripped the edge of the housekeeper’s dress like a lifeline.
Mary was awake, sitting on the edge of the bed, staring into the dark.
— Why does she cling to you more than anyone else? — Mike asked, trying not to wake the child.
Mary looked up. Her face showed fatigue and something else — a quiet pain.
— Because I don’t hurt her, — she said softly. — I listen to her silence.
The line landed harder than any shout. Mike took a seat beside her.
— Do you know where that photograph came from?
Mary hesitated, then reached into the bedside drawer and brought out an old notebook filled with crayon drawings. She handed it to him.
— She draws, — Mike asked.
