The Billionaire's Regret
I almost ignored it, because Poppy could connect the number seven to a light, chicken soup, the philosophy of marriage, and glitter shoes in one paragraph if given orange juice.
“What light, sweetheart?” I asked.
Poppy looked at me like I had just failed the lesson. “The light that talks by itself.”
“A lot of our lights turn on by themselves, Pop. Our house likes drama.”
“Not that one. The talking one.” She held the seven card against her chest. “The one that said seven too. Near the stairs. It kept saying, ‘Device seven offline.’ And I got scared because I thought seven died.”
“Device seven offline,” I repeated quietly.