When I parked, Daniel came out first. He was older now, broader, with lines around his eyes that hadn’t been there before.
“Em,” he said softly. “You came.”
I hesitated before hugging him.
“You didn’t give me much of a choice.”
Inside, the house smelled the same — a mix of old pine floors and something faintly floral. But time had drained the warmth from it. On the couch sat my mother, Margaret, a blanket over her knees. Her hair, once auburn and proud, was silver now, her face pale and drawn. For a moment, I didn’t see the woman who had cast me out, but someone small and fragile — human.
“Hi, Mom,” I said quietly.
Her eyes widened as if seeing a ghost.
“Emily?”
“It’s me.”
Her lips trembled.
“You… you shouldn’t have come.”
