Her breath came again in a great gasp as June dropped down beside her.
“Oh god, baby, I’m so sorry!” She lifted Dakota from the floor and rocked her thin, trembling body. “You’re okay now. Just breathe.”
“I’m sorry, Momma,” Dakota said, and burst into tears. “I tried, I really did.”
“I know, baby. I know.”
That was Dakota’s last good day.
60 days.
Michael was gone now. He never actually left them, but the weekend trip he’d taken was now going on a full week, and he had not called to say when he would be back home.
His supervisor had called on Monday to ask where he was, and when he’d be back, to which she could not give an answer. His manager had called on Tuesday to warn that if he didn’t show up Wednesday, not to bother coming on Thursday. On Wednesday, there was no call.
