My sister was inside putting her daughter to bed.
I had an exam on Monday.
The porch was repaired.
The house was still mine.
And none of us had to earn our place in it by pretending not to need anything.
From upstairs came June’s sudden, furious cry.
A moment later, Chloe answered.
“I’m here, sweetheart.”
I closed my eyes.
For most of my life, I had thought the shocking part of that morning was my mother’s face when the study door opened.
It wasn’t.
It was what I learned afterward.
They had left one child at Grandpa’s house and taken the other away, and somehow he had kept the door open long enough for both of us to come home.
Inside, June quieted.
I folded the letter, went through the front door, and turned on the hallway light.
