I looked at my daughter, seeing the frantic energy in her eyes, the way she could not stand still in the kitchen she had grown up in.
“I have nothing to be ashamed of,” I said, keeping my voice steady and flat. “My work is honest.”
“Of course it is, but they don’t understand that,” Lauren said, her voice rising slightly. “They look at things differently. I just need to blend in with them. I can’t have you there in some department store dress, making everyone uncomfortable.”
I reached into my pocket, took out my spare set of house keys, and laid them on the laminate counter.
“You will not need these anymore,” I said.
Lauren looked at the keys, then up at me, her eyes widening slightly before she reached out and took them. She did not say thank you.
“It is for the best,” she whispered.
She turned and walked out, her heels clicking on the porch stairs before the quiet returned to the house.
I walked back to the living room, where the mahogany drawer remained open.
