Part of me hopes Indy is home so I can know whether she’s wearing her hair in a braid or a bun. Whether she’s wearing socks around the house or letting her bare feet enjoy the heated floor. Whether she’s still in the clothes she slept in or if she’s ready for the day. And part of me hopes she’s gone so I can’t have any of those questions answered. They’re dangerous to our arrangement and they’re dangerous to me.
