Maybe things would’ve been different if I’d spoken up sooner.
The drive home took three hours.
I rolled down the window for most of it, letting the wind tug at my hair, trying to shake off the strange feeling crawling up my spine.
When I finally pulled into the driveway, I sat in the car for a moment, just looking at the house.
It had been my home for 18 years. Now it looked like a magazine spread. New porch lights. A different wreath on the door. A welcome mat I did not recognize.
I climbed the steps and let myself in.
To shake off the strange feeling crawling up my spine.
« Hello? » I called.
No answer.
The entryway smelled like a scented candle, something spicy but sweet. The walls had been repainted a soft gray.
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