Our house comes into view twenty minutes later.
It looks exactly the same.
White siding. Blue shutters. The porch swing Dad fixed three times because it kept squeaking. The hydrangea bush Mom refuses to let anyone trim because it “has personality.” Warm yellow light glowing through the front windows like nothing inside ever changed. Like this is still the kind of house where the worst thing that ever happened was a broken dish or a missed curfew.
It feels unreal.
Like I’m walking into a memory instead of a place.
We pull into the driveway.
No one moves.
Finally, my mom exhales. “Okay. Home.”
The word hits harder thansafeever did. Home at least belongs to me in pieces. Safe still feels like a trick word people use when they want me to stop shaking.
Inside, everything smells like lemon cleaner and vanilla candles. There’s a stack of mail on the counter. A bowl of keys by the door. My graduation photo still hanging crooked in the hallway because my dad always said fixing it would make the wall look too formal.
The girl in that picture doesn’t know how to kill someone.
I toe off my shoes automatically, following muscle memory, and for a second it’s like I never left. Like if I turn the corner I’ll see my old backpack by the stairs and hear my mother asking what I want for dinner.
Until my dad clears his throat.
“Jon’s… coming later,” he says stiffly. “He and King are handling reports.”
I nod too fast. “Okay.”
We don’t look at each other.
Then Mom claps her hands once, too bright. “All right. Living room.”
Dad blinks. “What?”
“Living room,” she repeats, pointing. “You and Jon are going to sit, drink coffee, and not yell when he gets here.”
“I wasn’t—”
“Living. Room.”
He grumbles, but obeys with the kind of reluctant compliance that tells me he knows better than to push her when she uses that voice. I almost laugh. Almost.
She turns to me. “Kitchen. With me.”
Relief floods my chest so hard I almost sag.
The moment we’re alone, I whisper, “Is he going to kill him?”
She laughs softly. “No, sweetheart.”
“I’m serious.”
“I know.” She takes my face in her hands. “Your father loves you too much to ruin everything tonight. He’s just… hurt.”
I swallow. “He looked like he wanted to.”
“He always looks like that when he’s scared.”
