Nobody answered the door when we knocked. It just swung open, like the house had been waiting for us.
The room on the other side was the kind of room that didn't need furniture to be a power play — tall windows, dark wood, a chandelier that cost more than the garage. And in it, arranged like pieces on a board, sat everyone who'd ever decided something about my life without asking me.
Old Whitfield in a high-backed chair by the fireplace, watching me like a cat watches a bird. A lawyer at his elbow, silver-haired, holding a folder. Dan by the window, arms crossed, jaw tight. Zoey on a couch far from him, one hand on her belly, her eyes on the floor.
And on a settee against the wall — my parents.
Mom looked like she'd been carved from ice. Dad looked like he hadn't slept in a month.
I h
