Agree to talk with Kyler as she bring up your search history (good path)

The blueberry stops its lonely orbit on Kyler's plate. You nod, not trusting your own voice, and take a final, meaningless bite of pancake. You push your plate away. The sound of ceramic on wood is a gunshot in the quiet kitchen.

Ava is at the sink, her back to you both, the rhythmic slosh of dishwater a futile shield against the coming storm. "I'll be in the garden, pulling some weeds," she says, her tone carefully neutral. "Leave the dishes. I'll get them later." She doesn't look back. The screen door swings shut with a soft sigh, leaving just the two of you. You and the daughter you no longer recognize.

Kyler takes a deep breath, her thin shoulders rising and falling. She doesn't look at you. She looks at her own hands, resting palms-up on the table, as if she's reading a future there she doesn't like.

"I'm sorry about... everything," she starts, her voice barely a whisper. "The shoplifting. Dropping out. Worrying you and Mom."

"Kyler, that's not what's important right now."

"It is," she insists, finally lifting her gaze to meet yours. Her eyes are red-rimmed but clear. "But that's not what I really needed to talk about." She hesitates, picking at a loose thread on the placemat. "Thank you. At the mall. For how you handled it. You could have yelled. You could have left me… you didn't. You just… protected me."

The knot in your chest loosens a fraction. "Of course, sweetheart. I'll always protect you."

Her lips twist into a sad, knowing smile. "I know. That's the problem." She looks away again, toward the back window, at the neat rows of Ava's tomato plants. "While you were upstairs getting ready, I used your computer. To print out a resume template." A fresh wave of ice-water floods your veins. You feel the blood drain from your face. "The browser was still open. From last night."

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