Unlike my room, however, there are electrical cords running across the carpet and wires dangling from the ceiling and across the bed. Surprise pushes me back through the doorway and into the dim hallway. Curiosity pulls me forward again.
I step inside, eyes narrowed against the brightness, and see a small, pale, blonde-haired girl lying in the center of a bed that is much too large for her.
Then, I see a man walk through a narrow door to the right. I start, but don’t retreat. There is nowhere to go. He has already seen me, and I can’t leave the house.
“I’m sorry,” I say quickly, hoping I can claim directional dyslexia as an excuse. “I didn’t mean to—”
“Amanda?” the man calls over his shoulder. He has on a slim-fit button-down with a skinny tie tucked into straight-legged jeans. He look
