Vivian’s bedroom door slammed.
Footsteps pounded down the stairs.
Not shuffling.
Not uncertain.
Running.
Vivian rushed into the kitchen so quickly she nearly struck the doorway.
Her entire face had changed.
No confusion.
No fear.
No vacant stare.
Only rage.
“What did you do?”
For eight months, she had sometimes pretended she couldn’t even remember my name.
Now she remembered it perfectly.
“Natalie, what did you do?”
I rose slowly.
“Good morning, Vivian.”
Then the doorbell rang.
Her face turned white.
Rachel stood outside with an investigator from the county
