Then I walked into a living room where my child thought two strange men might take her away.
The older officer looked up first.
“You must be Mrs. Cross.”
“Mallerie,” I said.
My suitcase was still in my hand.
“Her mother. What is going on?”
The younger officer shifted sideways, careful but not unkind.
“We responded to a call about a dispute between children,” he said. “We were told you were out of town.”
I set the suitcase down.
I looked at my mother.
“You called the police on a five-year-old?”
Kendra answered before my mother could.
