The bus drops me near my street just as the sky turns into that washed-out gray that can't decide between evening and night. I step onto the pavement and feel it hit me. Somewhere behind the sternum, in that hollow space where dread settles when it's been living there long enough to call it home.
The cold has sharpened since this afternoon. I cross my arms over my chest. Like if I press hard enough I might keep from coming apart on the walk upstairs.
I unlock the apartment door and slip inside with the quiet of someone who doesn't want to be asked questions. The smell of my mother's cooking drifts from the kitchen. Warm. Familiar. It should comfort me. Tonight it just makes me sadder. It smells like a life I am trying to protect and can't quite reach.
I call out something cheerful. Some
