DENVER.
She'd barely looked at me when I dropped her off at school, but I could tell she was holding something in. Not fear exactly. It was something else.
Her shoulders had been rigid when she'd climbed out of my car, that stubborn set to her jaw meant she was fighting herself more than me.
I'd wanted to call her back, to pull her into my arms and tell her everything would be okay. But lies don't taste good coming from my mouth, especially not to her.
Instead, I'd watched her walk through those gates like she was heading to war, her backpack slung over one shoulder, head held high despite whatever was eating at her from the inside. She hadn't looked back. Not once.
That should have been my first warning.
I waited until she was through the gates, watching her until my guy nodded at
