From her narrow bed in the pediatric wing of Riverbend General Hospital, Lemon Faulkner watched the storm brewing between her parents. Her small, pale face was etched with a concern that no seven-year-old should ever have to carry. She saw the way her mother’s hands trembled—hands that had scrubbed floors and sewn buttons late into the night just to keep them fed. She saw her father, a man she had only just begun to know, standing there with a mixture of mountain-moving resolve and heartbreaking guilt.
Lemon wanted to speak. She wanted to tell her mother that she believed in the gold-embossed invitations. She wanted to tell her father that his return felt like the sun coming out after five years of winter. But the words felt too heavy for her parched throat. All she could do was offer a s
