The storm had shifted. Sierra could feel it in the air the next morning, in the way her mother’s voice was lighter, almost cheerful, like a cat that had cornered a mouse and was simply waiting to pounce.
She sat at the vanity in her room, brushing her hair, when the knock came. It was soft, polite. But when she turned, Vanessa was already in the doorway.
“Busy?” Vanessa asked, her tone warm but her eyes sharp.
Sierra’s throat tightened. “No, Mom. Come in.”
Her mother’s perfume drifted in first, a subtle floral scent that carried more weight than it should have. Vanessa crossed the room with deliberate grace, closing the door behind her. The sound of the latch sliding into place made Sierra’s stomach drop.
“I wanted to spend some time with you,” Vanessa said, sitting on the edge of the
