When we got off the interstate, we were still alone. The anxiety that one of them was going to suddenly pop out had me still clutching the door so hard my hand hurt, but I couldn’t let go.
The area shifted, no longer dirty and run down—everything was pristine and well-manicured.
The Northbrook neighborhood I grew up in was still marked by massive mansions with a few smaller, older homes mixed in. Many of them had been torn down to have the giant structures replace them.
My stomach knotted at the wrought-iron fencing, and I took a deep breath before I stared up at the stone facade, noticing how little had changed in three years.
My hands shook as we pulled up to the house that I had once called home. It was the property my father purchased when he’d climbed his way higher into the organ
