“Mom.”
Grace backed into the hallway.
Then knocked.
Grace never gave me a grand apology.
That mattered more to me than another conversation ever could.
On the final night of her stay, Harold and I went upstairs.
He closed our bedroom door.
Click.
I looked at it.
Harold checked the lock.
“Yep.”
He closed our bedroom door.
I changed into my pajamas.
No footsteps stopped me.
No handle turned.
No voice asked what we were hiding.
For the first time all week, I didn’t glance toward the hallway once.
No footsteps stopped me.
