And I can love you and still make mistakes.

That’s why we tell the truth and ask for help.”

Ashley rested her forehead against the window.

“I think I understand now.”

At home, rain began tapping the roof while Andrew warmed the soup.

Ashley sat at the table drawing a blue truck underneath a bright yellow sun.

In her picture, the road curved around a hill, past a school and a row of houses.

Three people stood beside one porch: a father, a girl, and an aunt holding an umbrella.