I remembered one Sunday when she placed a bank statement beside my plate.
“Mom, I need to ask you about the college fund Grandpa left me.”
Before I could look at it, Kevin lifted the paper and stacked it with the dishes.
“Not tonight,” he said lightly. “Your mother is exhausted.”
Then he asked about my boss, and the conversation moved on. I had even thanked him later for recognizing how tired I was.
Now, as the plane touched down, shame tightened in my chest. Sarah had been trying to tell me something. I had simply been too worn down – or too afraid – to hear it.
Lola drove me home from the airport. At a red light, she glanced over.
“If you ever need somewhere to go,” she said, “my door is open.”
“I do not need to go anywhere.”
“I hope you are right.”
I wanted to be offended. Instead, I pressed my phone against my palm and silently begged Sarah to answer when I called again.
She did not.
Part 2 – The Empty Room
The house felt wrong the moment I entered it.
There was no music drifting from Sarah’s room, no sound of the television, no footsteps overhead. I left my suitcase in the hall and called both their names.
Only the refrigerator answered with its low mechanical hum.
