Jennifer's POV
The moment the plane’s wheels touched the tarmac in Albany, a floodgate burst open in my mind. old memories flashed back.
*Suddenly, I was eight years old, selling sweet tea from an unstable, shaky table at the end of the driveway.
*I was fifteen, learning to drive on these wide, sleepy streets, my father patiently guiding me.
*I was eighteen, desperate to escape this town for the glittering promise of a bigger life.
The memories weren't just images; they were sensations: the sting of fire ants,
My Uber pulled onto the familiar street, the old oak trees forming a canopy I’d forgotten. My father's house, a modest white ranch with a wrap around porch my father had built himself, looked smaller. The swing where he used to read before he passed on creaked in the gentle b
