My Five Year Old Asked About A Man Who Visits At Night And I Set Up A Camera

at her. I looked at the window, still open, the night air coming in cold and bringing with it the smell of the yard, cut grass and earth and, faintly, something else. Oil. Metal. The smell of a garage.

“Come sleep in my room tonight, sweetheart,” I said.

She came without arguing, which told me more than she knew about how upset she was, because Ellie continue reading …