Dim light peeked through unfamiliar lace curtains. I followed the stream shining on the pink carpet until it hit sheet music scattered around bare feet. “Dad?” I said. He stood from the rocking chair and joined me on the bed. There wasn’t much room for him. It was twin-sized, made for a kid. A young girl. “Hey, pumpkin. How are you feeling?” “I’m okay. Where are we?” “Sophia’s house.” I rolled over and glanced around the room. It had Emma written all over it. Literally. She’d drawn her name in fancy letters and tacked them to the walls. My duffle bag was sitting on the pink dresser next to a bejeweled plastic wand. “I wanted to bring you to my house, but she insisted. She said it would be easier to care for you here. You know … it would be sort of – uh – weird if I bathed you.” He laughed, and I sat up in bed.
