I stand there stunned. I never saw a Facebook message. But then again, I’m not the only person with moderator rights on the page. Several other people have them. Yumi runs the whole group, but she lends people moderator rights as needed.
Like Kenya and me, every spring, for the yard sale.
ONE YEAR AGO
The movie hadn’t been great, but Tori sat through the credits until the screen went black and she was the only person left in the theater. She nursed a familiar ache in her chest—the one that came from being surrounded by couples and from watching fictional people fall in love while her own life felt as blank as the screen. She had no one to talk to these days, only Cyrus.
She drove home with the windows sealed, the AC cranked up. It was early June in the Washington area; the temperatures eased a bit in the evening but the humidity was still brutal. She got to Eastbrook just past elevenPM, winding through suburban streets devoid of people.
Tori turned onto her block and felt the familiar weight settle in her sternum. The house was just as she’d left it—dark, still, pristine. What did she expect? That after a night at the movies it would magically transform into a cozy cottage complete with a cute guyin a cable-knit sweater? It could never feel like home now, not after the embarrassing scene with the Allards at the cathedral’s Flower Mart last month.
Those people were her neighbors, her landlords—there was no avoiding them.
Tori typed in the code to the door, and the latch stuck as it always did. Tonight the resistance annoyed her more than usual. She knew she wouldn’t text Jo about it, or anything else that was wrong with the house. Nothing felt right about this place anymore, but she was stuck here since her ex was paying for housing as part of the divorce settlement. She jiggled it hard, felt the click, and pushed open the door.
Inside, the house yawned wide and cold.
She didn’t bother turning on the lights right away. Her eyes were used to the dark. The entryway spilled into the living room—floor-to-ceiling windows on one wall, a gray wool rug under the coffee table, the faint glint of Leo’s favorite blue water bottle catching a sliver of moonlight. Was he missing it now? Did he miss her?
Even though she knew he would be gone until tomorrow afternoon, she still half expected to hear the creak of a step upstairs. The thud of a soccer ball in the hallway.
Tori dropped her keys in the ceramic bowl on the hall table and kicked off her shoes instead of tucking them into the hidden shoe closet Jo had so cleverly installed.Why bother, she thought, and turned toward the kitchen. When you’re alone, nothing really matters. Maybe a glass of wine to help her sleep, she thought,flicking on the kitchen light, and perhaps a piece of dark chocolate. A little reward for making it through another week.
That’s when she felt it.
A subtle shift in the air’s temperature. As if someone had opened a window and forgotten to close it.
She stopped moving and listened, her hand hovering near the refrigerator door.
There was a sound—barely a sound, but enough. A floorboard? A breath?
Every hair on her arms lifted.
Her voice caught, but she managed a tentative, “Hello?”
Nothing.
Her mind ran through the possibilities. Her ex? No, he didn’t have the key. Maybe Autumn hadn’t gone to stay with college friends in DC for the weekend after all. That had to be it. She had changed her mind and returned. But what was she doing upstairs?
“Autumn? Is that you?” She took a slow step back toward the front door, her mind racing. Had she locked it behind her? She couldn’t remember. “Autumn? You there?”
Then—a movement from the back hallway.
A figure burst into view, rushing toward her. A boy in a black hoodie, his sneakers scuffing the polished wooden floors as he sprinted past, his wiry limbs in a blur. As he crashed past her, one of his shoulders slammed into her arm hard enough to spin her half around.
“Hey!” she gasped, but he was already gone, the front door flung open, footsteps pounding down the path and into the night.
She turned back toward the hallway, her chest heaving.
And then she saw him.
Another boy, half-lost in the shadows just beyond the kitchen threshold.
Not moving. Not running.
“Yo, you okay?” His voice was low, coaxing, almost tender. As he emerged from the darkness, he pulled his hood back. The dim light illuminated his features—young, sharp, familiar.
Tori’s breath hitched. She should have screamed, backed away, reached for something sharp or heavy. But his expression wasn’t threatening. It was raw concern, etched plainly across his brow, a person who hadn’t learned to hide his feelings yet.
