“What is this?” I demanded, stepping into the room.

Patricia didn’t flinch. “Evidence. For the social worker. And for the family. Avery has three shirts and one pair of jeans that fit. Grace has a whole walk-in closet.

I’m just documenting your sheer selfishness.”

You went through my daughter’s private space. You cataloged her life like inventory.

Grace walked in behind me and froze when she saw the table.

Patricia looked right at her. “Sometimes, Grace, people who have more need to share. You have no idea what Avery has suffered.”