Beatrice had a spare key to our house, and that key had meant something to her, had represented her assumed permanent access, her standing, her right to be part of our lives whether or not she treated us with love.

And Caleb had quietly taken it back.

He had changed the locks and revoked the access and made the whole thing conditional, not on his forgiveness, not even on Beatrice’s future behavior, but on the judgment of the one person she had wronged most.

The terror on her face was the terror of a person who suddenly understands that access to the people she has been mistreating was never her right, only her privilege, and that the privilege has just been placed in the hands of a seven-year-old she spent three years teaching to feel worthless.

She had built her whole power on the certainty that Chloe was beneath consequence.