There’s a soft knock on the door.

I freeze mid-step. My heart's thudding because for a split second, I think it’s him—again. But then I hear her voice.

“Jennie? You home?”

I blink back the nerves rushing through me and open the door. My mother.

Her gray hair’s tied back in that tight little bun she always wears when she’s trying not to cry. And her lips are already twitching like she’s halfway there. She has that wool shawl draped over her shoulders, same one I grew up hanging on to when I had bad dreams.

I stand there for a second, just staring at her. I haven’t seen her...