I was standing by the kitchen window when Isabelle came downstairs. She had her bag on her shoulder and keys in her hand. She was moving quickly the way she always did when she didn't want to be questioned.
I watched her and I didn't say anything yet.
She was dressed differently from how she used to dress with tighter jeans and a top that wasn't something I'd bought her. Her hair was loose as she looked older, somehow, or maybe I just hadn't been paying close enough attention before.
This was the fourth time this week she was heading out. And every single time she came back late she would be quiet and a little distracted like her mind was somewhere she didn't want to share.
"Where are you going?" I asked if she stopped near the front door and turned halfway. "I was just going out, moth
