“Melissa, I"m home!” Wesley called.
His beautiful, three-year-old daughter ran to the front parlor, golden pigtails bouncing with every step.
He glanced up the room and sighed. Like the rest of the house, a thick layer of dust lay on every surface. A threadbare sofa with scarred arms had been shoved against the wall. An overturned side table rested on the floor, with the remains of a broken oil lamp strewn in a wide circle around it. One of the panes in the big bay window was also broken, and chilly air funneled into the room, as well as the odd leaf from the messy, untrimmed shrubs outside. His stomach turned when the wind stilled, allowing the stench of rotten food and dirty house to rise up.
“Daddy!” the little girl squealed, jumping into his arms. He cradled her against his side wit
