Meghan
The gravel crunches beneath my Audi R8 as I pull into the driveway of Aunt Teresa’s house. The sound is oddly soothing, grounding me as my nerves simmer just beneath the surface. Her home is exactly as I remember it—a picturesque colonial house, its white exterior framed by dark green shutters and a wide wraparound porch adorned with potted ferns. Wind chimes tinkle softly in the cool autumn breeze, their sound mingling with the rustling of leaves from the towering oaks surrounding the property. The peacefulness here stands in stark contrast to the chaos brewing inside me.
I cut the engine and sit for a moment, gripping the steering wheel tighter than necessary. My palms are clammy despite the crisp weather. The weight of my visit bears down on me as I take in the familiar sight
