“So, remember,” her hand on the door’s handle. “Bedtime at 9, only one treat, brush your teeth.”
“And no opening the door for anyone,” he intoned.
At least it got him a smile. There weren’t many of them of late.
She tucked an errant lock of hair behind an ear and suddenly he couldn’t stand it.
“When will you be back?” He knew. He had to ask.
She glanced at the window. The court-order weighed heavy on her mind.
“When Luna goes to bed behind the mountain, I’ll be home.”
For the last time.
For Rochelle’s Friday Fictioneers