I pushed open the door to the house, the smell of simmering stew drifting out from the kitchen, familiar and warm. For a heartbeat I thought it would be like any other evening, me slipping past the living room, creeping upstairs, keeping myself folded small and unnoticed.
But the low murmur of voices froze me in place.
I edged closer and peeked into the living room.
My dad was sitting there.
My dad.
The same man I’d seen under the dim streetlight the night before, looking worn and ruined, now sat across from my mom like he’d never been gone at all. His back was straighter than it had been last night, his hair brushed back as if he’d made an effort. Mom’s face, God, it had been weeks since I’d seen that expression on her. Her smile looked like it belonged there, lighting up her feature
