She said that she needed to go home. Her harried overweight supervisor, a widower named Ward Higgins, had a compassion for people which never seemed to fail. He said that she probably came back to work too soon. ‘You’ve been through an ordeal,’ he said. ‘You need a few days to recover.’ ‘Maybe,’ said Hannah, collecting her things and heading for the door. She drove home, almost blindly, unaware of what was happening around her. Luckily, the route home was familiar, and she arrived back at the house without incident. She hurried inside, avoiding even a glance at Rayanne’s house. She slammed the door and locked it, leaning her back against the door and staring into the depths of the cool, dark house. When she and Adam had bought this house they were so excited to be homeowners with a yard for their little daughter to play in, and a park down the street. Immediately they set about turning their house into a happy home. And they succeeded, Hannah always thought. Years later, when Sydney arrived, unexpectedly, they welcomed their granddaughter in, and tried to make it happy for her also.
