And I want to believe her. God, I do. But the idea of walking through that door again, of seeing their faces—my sisters, my mother, whatever version of her is left today—it hits something in me that I don’t think has fully healed.
I stare out the window. My hands are cold, despite the heating Lilia had insisted on.
“Maybe,” I mumble. But even I don’t buy it.
Lilia doesn’t push. She just shifts slightly in her seat and keeps driving, her fingers tapping a quiet rhythm against the steering wheel. It surprises me too, she’s usually so insistent on talking. About anything, really. Today though? Today she doesn’t bother—or maybe she can sense it’s not the time.
But as we sit in complete silence, it doesn’t even feel awkward.
I let the quiet stretch between us again, trying to slow my breathing. One in, hold, two out. Over and over, until I feel like I won’t pass out on the spot.
Then, up ahead, the road starts to turn. I recognize the curve before I realize where we are, and my chest caves a little.
And then I see it.
The house.
The same, yet entirely different now that I’m really looking at it.
I stop breathing without meaning to.
“Do you want me to go in with you?” Lilia asks, tapping the brakes gently as she pulls up in front of the house.
I shake my head too fast. “No, it’s okay. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
My voice sounds calmer than I feel, which feels like a small win. Not that I’m fooling anyone.
I glance over at her and pull out a smile, one that hurts my face and feels completely wrong. Lilia doesn’t call me out on it. She just gives me an exaggerated thumbs-up, her expression somewhere between encouragement and worry.
I nod once, then open the door.
I barely make it to the gate before I spot two small black security cameras mounted near the porch. One above the door, the other tucked near the garage. Discreet enough to pass as nothing. Still obvious to me.
Liam. Of course.
He did tell me he’d put them out here, and I like to think I believed him when he did… but somehow actually seeing them is different. An in-my-face confirmation.
A concrete one.
My hand hesitates on the doorknob. But I turn it anyway.
The hairs on my arms rise as I step inside. At first glance, the place looks exactly the same, which somehow makes it worse.
Like nothing’s changed.
Even thougheverythinghas.
I barely make it to the hallway before Sam appears. She steps out of the kitchen, slow, hesitant. Her eyes land on me and she just… stops.
She stares.
And I stare back.
Sam looks—god. She looksawful.
Her skin’s washed out to the point of looking grey in the hallway light. The bags under her eyes are deep and bruised.There’s something fragile in her face, too. The cracked kind, not the delicate kind. The kind that’s one wrong word away from breaking entirely.
I can’t even begin to untangle the mess in her eyes. Sadness. Exhaustion. Fear.
