Ruth immediately dropped her purse onto a kitchen chair and kneeled on the worn linoleum.
“Come here, sweetheart,” Ruth said, reaching out her arms.
Zoe hesitated, then walked over, holding a large sheet of drawing paper.
“I made a picture of our house,” Zoe said, holding it up.
Ruth took the paper, her eyes scanning the bright red crayon walls and the green grass.
At the very edge of the page, nearly off the paper entirely, was a small figure drawn in pale, faint pencil.
“Who is this down here in the corner?” Ruth asked softly.
“That is Daddy,” Zoe said, twisting her braid again. “He has to stay far away because he is working on the cabin.”
Ruth stared at the pale pencil lines, her face tightening into a pale, rigid mask.
“Go wash your hands for dinner, Zoe,” Lauren said, her voice gentle but firm.
The little girl nodded and ran down the short hallway toward the bathroom.
