So I think I tried to do what seemed best to me, in my position.
“Andre, please… come here,” I said, trying to sound calm.
Just then, we both clearly heard heavy, rapid footsteps on the stairs—someone running up. I glanced over my shoulder, and in that distraction Andre slipped into my bedroom and closed the door so fast that it left me at a disadvantage. My common sense told me to go after the child, so I ran in—and fortunately he hadn’t locked it (though he easily could have; I always left the key in the lock so I wouldn’t lose it).
I didn’t give myself even a second to see who had come up the stairs so quickly, but I could easily imagine it was Alexander. Who else?
Who was that boy’s father?
Who else could feel such urgency to be with him?
I was grateful he didn’t follow me in to
