the porch railing was still there, snapping in the wind like it was trying to get my attention.
The front door stuck in the humidity the way it always had.
The hallway smelled faintly of floor cleaner and Cassie’s perfume.
Duke, their golden retriever, barked once from somewhere near the living room and then went quiet.
Cassie was standing at the hallway entrance in a beige cardigan, arms folded, wearing that careful expression people use when they have already made a decision and want you to call it kindness.
“We made a few changes,” she said.
I remember those exact words because they landed wrong.
Not “Welcome home.”
Not “How are you feeling?”
Not “Do you need to sit down?”
Just changes.
Ryan picked up my overnight bag and carried it down the hall.
I watched the direction of his feet.
He did not turn toward my bedroom.
He turned
