Colleen froze, looking terrified as the doorknob rattled violently.
For months, my instinct would have been to rush to the door, apologize, and take over to keep the peace. My heart would have raced with anxiety. But looking down at the letter in my hand—and thinking of Dany eating his fries at the diner with a smile that lit up the room—the anxiety vanished.
In its place was a profound, unshakeable calm.
I stood up, walked across the small dining room, and unlocked Colleen’s front door.
I pulled it open. Standing on the porch were my mother and Chelsea, their faces flushed with anger and sweat from the morning heat. My mother opened her mouth to snap an order, but the words died in her throat when she saw the expression on my face.
It wasn’t anger. It wasn’t sadness. It was pity.
“Lucy,” my mother sputtered, regaining her footing. “What is wrong with you? Your father has been calling for you all morning. Get your things and come home right now. You have responsibilities.”
