But behind their beautiful family portraits, something had been changing.
For nearly six months, Chloe had become increasingly withdrawn whenever I visited. She stopped running toward me at the door and rarely laughed at my silly jokes.
Sometimes, when I asked whether everything was all right, she would glance nervously toward the hallway before telling me that she was simply tired.
I assumed she was adjusting to school.
Then, three weeks before the funeral, Chloe whispered something strange while we were baking cookies together in my kitchen.
“Grandma, if somebody tells you I’m sleeping for a really long time, will you come find me?”
I laughed gently, thinking she was describing a nightmare.
“Of course, sweetheart. I’ll always come find you.”
She studied my face with unusual seriousness.
“Even if Daddy says you can’t?”
I stopped stirring the cookie dough.
“Why would Daddy say that?”
Chloe lowered her eyes.
