Chapter 4 - The Trash Truck
One Saturday afternoon, I found Milo out on the patio, carefully sewing a yellow dress onto one of his older dolls — the very first one he'd ever rescued.
When I told him we were driving to Bailey's Fabric & Craft for new buttons, he set the doll down on the patio table and ran inside for his shoes.
Diane said her knee was acting up and stayed behind.
We were gone maybe forty-five minutes.
The second we got home, Milo bolted up the stairs two at a time, eager to get back to his project.
Then I heard a sound I'd never heard from my son before — a sharp, terrified gasp.
I found him standing frozen in the middle of his bedroom.
The shelves were bare.
Four years of dolls — gone.
"Mom," he said, his voice barely a whisper. "Where are they?"
Diane appeared in the doorway, eating a peach like nothing was wrong.
"I threw that nonsense out," she said calmly. "Put the bags out right after you left. Garbage truck already came and went."
Milo just stared at her, his mouth open, no sound coming out.
"You had no right!" I shouted, my hands shaking.
She took another bite of her peach, completely unbothered.
"One day you'll thank me. Somebody in this family had to turn him into a proper young man. Boys are supposed to stay boys."
I wrapped my arms around Milo. His whole body had gone rigid, stiff as a board.
May you like
He hadn't said a single word.
Then he pulled away from me and walked straight toward his grandmother.
