“You can’t just—”

I spoke one word.

“Move.”

She stepped aside.

The Party Upstairs

The hallway leading upstairs looked different than I remembered.

The furniture was more expensive.

The decorations more elaborate.

Everything carried a hint of display rather than comfort.

As we climbed the stairs, the sound of music and laughter grew louder.

When we stepped into the living room, the conversation stopped almost immediately.

Several guests turned toward the staircase.

They clearly had not expected me to return tonight.

My mother, Diane Reed, was standing beside the dining table holding a glass of wine.