Because “home” had changed many times over the years. Home had been a small apartment full of laptops and takeout containers and hope. Home had later been a glass-walled penthouse decorated to impress guests. Home had become a silent place where she learned to track emotional weather by the angle of a husband’s smile. Home had also become two small boys asleep across each other’s feet during thunderstorms. And more recently, home had been a rented suite under a different name, with two sets of school uniforms hanging from temporary closet rods and a locked drawer full of evidence.
She kissed his forehead. “We’re going somewhere safe.”
He seemed satisfied enough with that, because children do not always need certainty if they trust the person offering the uncertainty.
The car turned north.
For several blocks nobody spoke.