May 16th, 1998. 6:35 A.M.
The small, semi-detached house in an unfashionable neighborhood of London had bricks for a front lawn, but they were clean and well-swept.
Sally-Anne walked up to the front door and double-checked the address. She rapped on the doorjamb and the thin wood rattled. No response. She knocked again and then waited several minutes, shivering. Finally, wincing, she rang the doorbell. Bouncing on her toes to get her blood flowing, Sally-Anne felt like an outsider here, an interloper.
Then the inner door suddenly and silently swung into the house and a short woman appeared; she pushed open the glass outer door. Sally-Anne barely avoided being knocked over.
"You must be Mrs. Patel, Arun's mother," said Sally-Anne awkwardly.
The older woman beckoned her into the house, then hurried to close and lock both doors. A blanket of warmth enveloped Sally-Anne and she flexed her fingers gratefully.
"You're the last," said Mrs. Patel, without ceremony. "The others are already in the kitchen." Down a narrow and very short hallway, past a tiny half bathroom, Sally-Anne could see light and hear Zhu talking.
The kitchen was also tiny. An old refrigerator took up most of one side of the room. There was a bowl of what looked like matzoh balls on the linoleum countertop next to the range. Arun's mother, having followed Sally-Anne, began rolling one out with a little flour.
Hungry as she was, Sally-Anne couldn't pay much attention: Sam, Arun, and Zhu were sitting at an old card table that was tucked into the other half of the room, drinking cups of tea. They looked up and waved as she walked in, but didn't stand; doing so would have required an elaborate set of moves capable of winning 15-puzzle.
"Fashionably late, boss," Zhu said with a smile.
"Have a seat, please." Arun gestured towards the remaining empty chair. "Oh, mom, is there another glass? And a teabag. Thanks."
"Arun saved you the good seat. Lucky you, getting to drink all the tea you want without having to worry about getting to the bathroom," said Sam.
Sally-Anne gladly sat down and waited for Arun's mother to pour her a cuppa from the steaming kettle. She touched it briefly. Hot. She contented herself with stirring the tea a couple times with a spoon and blowing futilely over the rim while waiting for someone else to start the conversation. She felt cramped; if she reached out she could have touched the stovetop.
"We need to be quiet. The rest of my family is still sleeping." Arun pointed at the ceiling.
"I was just telling them about what happened outside Ollivander's yesterday," Zhu said.
"Zhu has done a complete one-eighty," commented Sam dryly, "and is now trying to convince us that Arthur Weasley's our man."
A sizzling came from the hob. Zhu somehow squeezed out of her seat, leapt up and opened a cupboard. She pulled out a pile of plates.
"Here, Mrs. Patel, let me help you," said Zhu.
"Thank you, Zhu. You are a good girl." Arun's mother looked up at her and smiled.
"I'm not set in stone!" Zhu said, placing one of the plates next to the range and turning around to look at Sam. "Besides, you were the one who thought he was guilty in the first place."
"Hardly. I merely indicated that he had a certain profile that made him worth considering."
"Let's slow down, people. No running by the pool. We have to get this one right." Sally-Anne took a cautious sip of her tea. Perfect. She took several large swallows and felt the reinvigorating warmth spread through her body. "Arun, what's the word from St. Mungo's?"
"Hold on a second, Sally-Anne." Sam raised his hand to preempt Arun. "I think you should tell them about Ms. Carrow, first."
"There's not much to tell." There was movement by her elbow and she turned to accept a plate from Zhu. Some sort of pancake sat on the warm ceramic. She passed the plate over to Arun over his objections. "She confirmed there's a player moving against the Ministry. Someone with no love for Muggles."
"No," said Sam. "I told them what she said. And I didn't layer on an interpretation. I mean, what happened after I stepped outside." His face was impassive.
The sound of the next whatever-it-was frying was suddenly quite loud. Sally-Anne looked around at the three of them. She wondered if they would this consider a bridge too far.
Good, Sally-Anne thought defiantly. If they can't stomach this, I need to know now. Better they get off the train before real decisions have to be made. But I thought better of them. Especially Zhu, after yesterday.
"I extracted Ms. Carrow's memory of our visit and placed it into a Ministry Pensieve," she said, looking at each of them in turn.
"Without Obliviator authorization. But yesterday you said memory charms were the same as murder." Zhu spoke slowly as she passed Sally-Anne another hot plate. Sally-Anne pushed this one at Sam, with a hard look. He took the plate but he didn't start eating.
"There may no other way with whomever it is we're chasing," continued Zhu, without looking at Sally-Anne, "but Ms. Carrow, I mean, she did terrible things at Hogwarts but she never killed anyone. She was unconscious for the really bad stuff. They didn't even imprison her."
"I did it for her! To protect her," retorted Sally-Anne. She took an exasperated breath, got up, refilled her cup with hot water, then silently took another steaming plate from Zhu. She sat down and deliberately cut off a large piece of what Mrs. Patel was cooking. It was warm and delicious, heavier and sweeter than a regular pancake.
"I understand it's easier to work together on the day-to-day," said Sally-Anne calmly, once she could speak again. But we're not in Kansas anymore. Understand this. People have going to die and, if we're lucky, we are going to kill them. If we're unlucky, we will likely be killed. And then someone that excites the Death Eaters will take over the Ministry and have access to all its strength and a freedom to act no Minister in living memory has had. If that's the future you want, tell me now."
She took another bite. Zhu sat down with the final plate. She looked at Sally-Anne, not eating, waiting.
"Ask yourselves why I didn't Obliviate her," Sally-Anne continued. "Why go to all the trouble, and it was trouble, for the record, to smuggle out a Pensieve? I thought I'd taught you better. Arun. What is the difference between a Pensieved memory and an Obliviated one?"
"A memory can be retrieved from a Pensieve. Which means... you wanted to show it to us?" asked Arun hesitantly. He poked at his untouched plate.
"So an Obliviated memory can never be retrieved?" Sally-Anne asked. She saw Sam raise his eyebrows. His head snapped back and he started eating. Well, she thought caustically, at least someone understands.
"Torture," Zhu said quietly. "Obliviation can be broken by torturing the subject."
"That is correct. We know Alecto is in touch with other Death Eaters. And, somehow, they are in touch with Macnair's kidnappers. And probably his murderers by now. Five minutes after Sam and I left, they could have kicked in her door, demanding to know what she'd said."
"And if the memory was there, even Obliviated..." Arun trailed off, but he looked at Sally-Anne with respect and perhaps a little apprehension. "So you removed it entirely."
"Chicken dinner." Sally-Anne looked back over at Sam as though to say, "Enough?"
"I figured they had the right to know," shrugged Sam. "And I"m glad you had a good reason." He laughed. "At least I got tea on this field trip. And our host today is far nicer." He looked up at Arun's mother and winked, grinning. She chuckled and came over to put another paratha on his plate.
"It's not enough to have good intentions!" Sally-Anne took another deep breath and sipped her tea; the warm liquid calmed her. "Everyone thinks they have a good reason for what they do. But horrible things still get done. Maybe it's good intentions that are the problem; that certainty justifies anything."
Only after she said it did Sally-Anne realize that it was true. She pictured Ms. Carrow beating students, using the Cruciatus to teach a necessary lesson. She pictured the Death Eaters rampaging behind their masks, certain that Muggles were animals.
"And it's not enough of a justification, either, to say that things worked out well this time." Sally-Anne mouthed out the words distastefully. "We try to think ahead. We plan. We prepare. But don't fool yourself. We don't control the world. Which means It's not consequences that matter, either."
"What does matter, then?" Zhu asked.
"I'm not, I'm not entirely sure," Sally-Anne admitted. She finished her tea and reached over for the kettle again. Sometimes, it worked better to think out loud.
"I didn't protect Alecto because my motives were pure," said Sally-Anne thoughtfully. "The woman enjoys hurting children and some part of me wanted to see her suffer. And I didn't protect her just because I was worried about her being forced to reveal what she'd told us. I protected her because you don't torture people. You don't deliver them into the hands of torturers. You don't do it because the world wouldn't work if everyone did it. You don't do it because you wouldn't want it done to you."
She thought of Jadis, Queen of Charn, and what a world would be like where everyone thought the rules didn't apply to them.
"I'm not above such laws," she said. "No one is. Period."
She thought of her mother, lying to Sally-Anne in order to control her, and thereby destroying their relationship beyond repair.
"Someone who thinks good intentions or consequences are all that matters will lie. How can they ever be trusted?" asked Sally-Anne.
She saw again the two boxes of Omega and how easily cooperation, even with strangers, was possible as long as people trusted each other to follow universal rules, to not be bad actors.
"If I can't consistently obey a moral obligation as simple as "don't torture", then how could I ever trust myself? And if I can't even trust myself, how could I ever expect anyone else to trust me?"
In the silence that followed, Sally-Anne imagined a world where everyone blithely dismissed traditions that had survived for thousands of generations. Where people did whatever they felt like, justifying carelessness with good intentions and excusing bad outcomes by blaming reality rather than their own recklessness. Where people's egos were too big to bother to learn empathy, and no one trusted each other because opinions mattered more than truth.
Sally-Anne pictured the result and everyone in the room froze. The world itself stood still, turned sepia, and, like old newspaper that is placed near but not in the fire, was consumed by blackness, curled into nothingness. Sally-Anne looked down at her hands. They were charred. She could see the table through them in spots and the spots had glowing edges that grew steadily larger.
Sally-Anne blinked and the vision was gone. For a moment, she watched the steam that was still slowly rising from her tea. Then she stood up and looked at Zhu.
"It's like what I said yesterday. If every culture has the same rule, if there are no footnotes to that rule, no 'unless you really want to' exception, no 'except for the greater good' special case, then maybe you shouldn't unthinkingly destroy that rule, then brush off your hands at a job well done.
"And I know what you're going to say. If that's true, then why are we here, deciding whom we're going to kill?" asked Sally-Anne. She felt Sam's eyes on her.
"We're going to kill because protecting the world from bad actors is a universal duty. We're going to fulfill that moral obligation, no matter the risk. No matter the penalty required. Because killing is what we are supposed to do in this situation, regardless of what we want or what we hope to achieve.
"And I need to go to the ladies."
Sally-Anne finished washing her hands and stepped back into the hallway. Arun's mother was waiting for her.
"You're going to get my son killed." Mrs. Patel's eyes and mouth were hard but her voice was pitched low so as not to carry.
Sally-Anne swore inwardly. An ambush.
"I should never have let him work for you. Did you know, every summer, when he came home from that school, he studied normal subjects? No, you didn't. I bet you don't even know my name. He took his A levels last year. Three top marks. He could have gone on to university, but your precious Ministry mattered more. He doesn't tell me much about your world, but I listen. I pick up things. Accidents. Death. And now you come into my home and talk openly of killing someone powerful.
"We came here to give our children opportunity; you take it away from my child. We came here to deliver them from danger; you risk the life of my only son. And casually. So casually." Mrs. Patel spoke evenly and calmly but her tears dripped steadily down onto the floor.
Sally-Anne did not speak. She could barely think. Her mind had been plowing at full power in a single direction and now it was like trying to turn an aircraft carrier to confront a speedboat.
"I cannot dissuade my son. He is too young to listen to those who love him. So I give thanks that my husband and my daughters are asleep. That they should hear you talk, that they should learn of such things." The woman shook her head.
"So certain you are when it is appropriate to kill, that you will risk others' lives. Do you even know what you are doing?" She looked up at Sally-Anne challengingly. They stared at each other in silence for a long moment and then another. Sally-Anne was frozen, unable to move; she might as well have been a statue.
Mrs. Patel pulled a dishcloth out from somewhere and, kneeling down, wiped away her tears and walked back into the light of the kitchen.
Sally-Anne continued to stand in the hallway, motionless. Now that she was alone, she found many good things to say. How careful she had been. How much caution they were taking. How they weren't acting out of emotion or arrogance, but logic. That — and she was still piecing this together herself — they was doing what would have been required of anyone in their place, whether they approved or not.
She half-opened her mouth to start to say these things, even to an empty hallway. Then Sally-Anne remembered how the older woman's face had looked before she knelt to wipe up her own tears. Sally-Anne closed her mouth. Was this fear and uncertainty what it meant, to be a hero? It had seemed so much simpler, before she'd proven Omega wrong.
Back in the kitchen, the dough balls and the tea were gone. Arun's mother was cleaning up and the others looked at Sally-Anne expectantly. She sat down and addressed them brusquely.
"Any other complaints with my tactics will have to wait. We're here for one reason. To smoke out a traitor based on evidence. A penny for confirming evidence. But a pound for disconfirming evidence. That's what I want to hear right now. Arun."
"Dawlish is still incapacitated." Arun shook his head. "If he's faking, he still hasn't left St. Mungo's. No polyjuice. No Imperius. No owls. No mirror. No visitors, except Percy Weasley tries to stop by after his shift guarding the Death Eaters. But if they're conspiring, it's in thirty-second conversations once every couple days."
"Given how many nasty knocks he's received recently, even a conversation that long would be impressive," said Sam.
"All right," Sally-Anne acknowledged. "There are universes where this evidence exists and Dawlish is guilty, but they're extremely rare. Next. Kingsley."
Sam rubbed the back of his head. "If I didn't know the man, I'd say he was the most likely. But cui bono? He's pushed measures through the Wizengamot that increase the power of the Ministry enormously. But he's sat on them. He's not recruiting. He's still playing defense against Yaxley and the others. He barely leaves his office; the rumor is that he's too busy answering letters from wizards abroad even to interview replacement candidates for people we've lost. These are important offices, sitting vacant."
"Could he be coordinating through the letters?" asked Sally-Anne.
"Possibly," Sam admitted. "But why hide his actions, when the common complaint is that he hesitates? Let's not be too clever by half. You're smart, Sally-Anne, smarter than I thought you were. But smart people make two mistakes. They think they're the only smart ones. Or they think everyone is smarter than they are. They see patterns where there is only noise, genius at the first hint of competence. Kingsley walks like a duck. He talks like a duck. He just may be — "
"A duck. I get it," interrupted Sally-Anne.
"I haven't finished. There is one serious piece of evidence against him." Sam shifted in his chair and his eyes flickered up to Arun's mom. Her back was still turned to them. He looked at Arun and tilted his head.
"Mom, you've done enough. We'll finish up. Anyway, you'd better get Uma up soon, or she'll miss practice again."
"All right." She smiled at her son. "If you need anything..." Mrs. Patel looked coldly at Sally-Anne and left the room.
"You saw Mafalda yesterday," continued Sam, "just as you were leaving with Zhu. She had a question, a question that she put as offhandedly as she could, but, well, she's wound pretty tight at the best of times."
"The Imperturbable?" Sally-Anne raised her eyebrows.
"You noticed that, huh. And she couldn't make eye contact. Or stop fidgeting." Sam paused for emphasis. "Mafalda wanted to know if it was possible to put the Trace on adults. Not just school children."
"And you said?" prompted Zhu.
"The truth. Of course it's possible. Yaxley wanted the same thing. Political suicide if it ever got out we were considering it again, but maybe under these new laws it wouldn't. I don't know. I didn't mention that bit. Then she asked how many people it would be possible to trace simultaneously. Now, we're at about four hundred currently, including children too young for Hogwarts. It's already a lot to maintain, and manage, contrary to public opinion, and that's what I told her." Sam looked down at his hands as they gripped the table.
"She wanted to know how many I'd have to hire in order to Trace ten times that many," finished Sam with a whisper.
"But that's, that's every wizard in the country!" exclaimed Arun. Above them, they could hear the voice of a young girl unhappy to be awake.
"Thank you, Captain Obvious!" barked Sam, visibly upset. For perhaps the first time that Sally-Anne could remember, his detached manner had cracked. She realized that this was what had been bothering him all morning.
"What did you tell her?" asked Sally-Anne quietly.
"I kept a straight face, if that's what you're asking. I told her at least ten more experienced wizards, probably fifteen at the start. She wanted to know how quickly I could assemble a team and I said six weeks at least. Then she gave me four."
"That doesn't sound like Mafalda," said Arun skeptically.
"Were you there? I didn't think so. Besides," Sam let out an explosive breath, "the person it doesn't sound like is Kingsley. I didn't dare ask where the idea came from; it certainly wasn't hers, but Kingsley's her only direct superior." He sighed. "I miss Amelia. If Kingsley gave that order, everything else we think we know about him is a ruse. Which seems impossible. But who else could have lit a fire under Mafalda?"
"Arthur." Zhu said it like she was putting her entire grubstake on a twelve to one at Belmont.
"Wait," Zhu continued hastily, "before you shoot it down, because you think you know him, just like you think you know Kingsley, hear me out." She shot a glance at Sam. "You've heard how he reacted to a potential threat. We know he's recruiting. And he was talking with Ollivander. We haven't mentioned him yet today, but he seems highly likely to be involved in this, somehow. That's more evidence than we have for everyone else, combined," Zhu finished, flushed.
"Circumstantial," scoffed Arun and looked at his boss questioningly.
"Fine, you've Devil's Advocate on this one," said Sally-Anne.
"Great, thanks. Arthur reacted as any trained wizard would have, especially after what he's been through. So he's recruiting. It would be strange if he wasn't, like Kingsley. We're recruiting. So is Auror Savage, I heard. And talking to Ollivander? There're a thousand reasons to do that, and a violent political coup with the intent of setting up some totalitarian, Big Brother-type society is only one of them. Terrible prior. Weak evidence. Besides, why would he do it? What's his motive?"
"He's a pureblood," replied Zhu. "He's related to most of the Death Eaters — by the way, what's up with you guys and the inbreeding? It's creepy — and he lost a son, you said. He works with Muggles." She was listing the points off on her fingers. "Maybe he thinks Kingsley's soft. Maybe he's a wizard supremacist sympathizer. Maybe he's gone mad with grief. Who knows?"
"So we kill him, based on that?" Arun asked incredulously. "You look up 'meek' in the OED and there he is. He repairs cars. He has a family."
"Time out." Sally-Anne put her hands up. "That's irrelevant. I need disconfirming evidence, Arun. Something that could only exist in a universe where he's innocent."
"OK, he didn't know about Macnair being moved," Arun said.
"Are we sure about that?" asked Sam.
"No, we've not." Sally-Anne took over her glasses, setting them on the table and rubbing where they'd pressed into her nose. She closed her eyes, trying to remember the meeting in Kingsley's office. It seemed to have happened to someone else. "But he was at the council afterwards, when Kingsley told the Aurors and McGonagall and Flitwick about the attack. So he may have been told it was happening in an earlier meeting."
Everyone was silent for a moment, thinking it through. Then Sally-Anne suddenly remembered something. She snapped her fingers. "And he was the one who asked Kingsley to push these new laws through."
"How did he manage that?" Arun pushed back.
How had Arthur done it? Sally-Anne opened her eyes as she realized.
"Giants," Sally-Anne said simply. "He warned the Minister that Macnair had contacts with the giants."
"So Macnair's kidnapping helped Arthur convince Kingsley!" Zhu exclaimed. She leaned forward, putting her elbows on the table. "Cui bono? He bono! He frees Macnair, empowers himself, and starts recruiting. Probably tells Mafalda he's acting under Kingsley's orders, threatens her, I don't know. And you said his son Percy is watching the Death Eaters." Zhu pointed at Arun in triumph. "So Arthur has access to them."
"That would fit with what Alecto said," admitted Sally-Anne.
"What about the Aurors? Savage is recruiting and Williamson is also guarding the Death Eaters." Arun was in retreat, his voice weaker.
"No way." Sam shook his head. "Two Aurors died in the attack on Macnair."
"OK, Rookwood then." Arun protested. "He's in the wind, could have managed the attack himself."
Sam scoffed. "And made no sound since. Left the Death Eaters captive. Pressured Mafalda. And manipulated the Wizengamot."
"It's a fair objection," said Sally-Anne, looking at Arun. He needed to get better at arguing against a hypothesis, she thought, instead of just throwing competing hypotheses against the wall. "He's likely involved. Just not the leader. I expect to get more information on him in a few hours. No, I can't tell you how."
"So you're convinced it's Arthur?" Sam asked slowly.
"We'll need someone to take the fall for his death," dodged Sally-Anne. "If it is him. We can't afford loose ends, given his family. And his future in-laws."
"The Death Eaters," proposed Zhu. "Two birds, one stone."
"Tricky. But possible, maybe, with a little help from someone who hates me." Sally-Anne checked the clock. "As of right now — and please tell me if I'm missing something — there's disconfirming evidence against all the likely suspects except Arthur and there's semi-strong confirming evidence for him." No one said anything. Small feet pounded down the stairs.
"If we do move on Arthur, timing will be critical," Sally-Anne continued. "So we're going to sit here until the plan is perfect and everyone has it memorized. But before we act, I'm going to need something more."
"What?" Zhu asked.
"Practice, what else? And a nice chat with Arthur Weasley," said Sally-Anne, smiling. There was motion in the doorway and she looked over.
April 21st, 1997
"Hi, dad." Sally-Anne propped her bike against the kitchen door and removed her helmet, breathing heavily. Blood shone in her cheeks and her eyes were bright.
Surprised, he looked up from his book.
"Hello, love. Didn't hear you come in." Her father noticed the clock on the wall above the sink. "Look at the time. You'd better see your mother; you know how she hates waiting."
"In a minute. I'm starving." Sally-Anne laughed. "Maybe riding the bike to work wasn't the best idea after all. Feel like I used up three of my nine lives today; I should just start Apparating like everyone else." She pulled a loaf of bread out of the refrigerator and a block of sharp cheddar.
"You know it really hurts your mother when you ignore her. After all she's done for you." He said it mechanically, as though for the thousandth time.
"Jeez, dad. Let her fight her own battles for once. It's bad enough getting this from her." Sally-Anne put the sandwich into the George Foreman and leaned on it.
"A little respect, Sally-Anne." Her father shook his head. "I don't understand what's happened to you. Working under your mother was one thing. But this new job, I don't know."
"This new job is the best thing that's ever happened to me, dad! I'm getting field experience! I can still practice as much as I want! I'm getting better, dad, so quickly." She turned the sandwich over. "And all mom cares about is that I'm not paying her enough attention!"
"Well, she was crying earlier. Didn't want me to hear, but she was. I hope you're proud of yourself. She loves you and you treat her this way."
"What does she want, dad?" asked Sally-Anne with frustration. "How long can she keep me tied to her apron strings? She home-schooled me, fine. Insisted I intern with her at the Ministry, great. She was a good teacher, credit where credit's due, but I'm an adult now, dad! I deserve some time to myself." Sally-Anne pulled a plate down from the shelf and juggled the hot grilled cheese onto it and took it over to the table. She sat down heavily next to her father and grinned.
"Aren't you happy for me, dad? That I'm happy? What this opportunity has meant to me? To be independent for the first time in, uh, ever?"
"Your mother isn't happy. Doesn't that matter to you? Don't you love her?"
"Of course I do." Sally-Anne chewed her sandwich. She looked up at the clock. Almost six-fifteen. She wondered how far she could push it, before heading back to get the third degree. Why couldn't her mother just let go? Sally-Anne had been working under Mafalda for almost a month now. She was still living at home, still stopping by her mother's office nearly every day. Wasn't that enough? She deserved some space, to finally feel what it was like to be on her own. Her own life! Didn't her mother understand that?
"Well maybe you should act like it," said her father. There was venom in his voice, but it seemed more worn down than usual.
Sally-Anne took another bite of toast and gooey, melted cheddar. After the long ride home it tasted divine. She looked at her father and shivered for some reason. His comb over was getting thinner, his once black hair now almost complete white. He looked paler than she remembered. How long had it been since they'd spent time together, even like this? He was so focused on her mother getting her due that he never spoke up for himself. A sudden pang of guilt struck Sally-Anne.
"I'm sorry, dad. I'll try harder. I will. I promise." Sally-Anne put her hand on his arm; it seemed brittle beneath the flannel sleeve. "You're right. I've been spending a lot of time out of the house lately. I know… I know you can't do that, but I'm going to talk to her. She can't keep — it's ridiculous — I don't think you even understand any more how — I feel like I've been given new eyes — just getting out of this house — it's not like I'm abandoning her — so melodramatic — would do you so much good — not healthy, never getting out — going to tell her so there." She leaned back and blinked rapidly for a moment.
"Things are going to change, dad. I love her, but I won't let her manipulate me, us, anymore. No more letting her play the victim when she doesn't get exactly what she wants. No more lies, no more threats. It's not fair. For either of us. And I'm stronger now," said Sally-Anne confidently.
"Look at the grown up." Her father had picked up his book again. "I'm glad you're so certain about exactly what's right for all of us. Just ignore all your mother's experience since you know everything. I hope you let us know what you decide." He shook his head with suppressed anger, refusing to look at her. "The gratitude."
Sally-Anne stood up. She slowly put the crumby dish in the sink.
"I'm doing this for you, dad. So this... this doesn't have to continue. This isn't OK, what she's done to you, what she's doing. Even if you can't remember it." She opened the refrigerator door to grab a bottle of milk. "I'm going to be a better daughter. To both of you. You'll see. She will too. I promise." Sally-Anne closed the refrigerator door.
Surprised, her father looked up from his book.
"Hello, love. Didn't hear you come in." He noticed the clock on the wall above the sink. "Look at the time. You'd better see your mother; you know how she hates waiting."
Sally-Anne sighed and headed back to the larger bedroom. She wondered why her mother hadn't already come out to berate her for stopping to talk with dad. And there was a light on in Sally-Anne's small room. That was odd.