I covered my face with both hands. “Great. Fantastic. I’m the villain in a six-year-old’s story.”
“You’re not,” she said quickly. “You’re just the easiest target. Kids repeat whatever drama they hear around them. Lila’s probably confused and hurt. And her mom feeds her a little… flavor.”
I groaned. “A little flavor? Fiorella, she told me I’m separating her family.”
“Exactly,” she said pointedly. “That’s not kid vocabulary. They usually don’t care about these things.”
I sat there, deep in thought as she walked over to the window.
“Damon’s back,” she said, turning to me. “Are you going to tell him?”
I shook my head. “No. I’ll speak to Anya first before I tell him anything.”
She nodded. “I’ll be back.”
Then she walked out of the living room.
I stood up and opened the door, bumping
