It had a single word, printed in dark, deliberate ink.

It read, simply, in dark deliberate capitals: GUEST.

One word, and it managed to say more than three years of insults had said.

It did not even bother with the pretense of Caleb’s Girl anymore, which had at least implied a connection to someone.

It cut my daughter down to a single cold category, a person passing through, a visitor with no name and no place, set down beside her plate in the family home where she was supposed to be most safe.

Chapter 21 — Guest