The lock didn’t give.

I pressed my back hard against the wood and felt it jolt.

Julian struck the door again, three heavy blows that ran through the wood into my shoulder blades.

The washer was still going behind me, and the room smelled of bleach and damp cotton.

“Brenda.

Open up this door.”

I hitched Chloe higher on my chest and kept my palm flat against the back of her head.

Her hair was wet at the temples, and her bare feet rested against my arm.