ALIANA

Grace resurfaces on a Tuesday.

My phone buzzing while I’m standing at the kitchen sink, watching King argue with Michael over whether pancakes are better cut in squares or triangles.

“Triangles taste faster,” King insists.

“That’s not a thing,” Michael replies.

“It is if you’re hungry,” King says.

I almost smile.

Then my phone vibrates again.

Unknown number.

I don’t answer.

It vibrates a third time.

Something in my chest tightens.

I excuse myself, walking into the hallway before answering. “Hello?”

Her voice is softer than I remember.

“Aliana.”

I stop walking.

“I know you hate me,” Grace says. “You should but if you don’t hear this from me,...