PART 1: The smell of my childhood did not resemble lemonade stands or fresh laundry. It smelled like hot asphalt after rain, truck exhaust clinging to the morning air, and detergent so strong it made my nose sting. It settled into the seams of my clothes and refused to leave, even when I washed everything twice…
“Talia. My God. What are you doing out here?” My voice came out thick with panic. She struggled to her feet, wobbling as if her bones had forgotten how to hold her. Her eyes were bloodshot. Her lips trembled. “Papa, I am sorry. I swear I did not mean to cause trouble. I just bought…
I saw her before the engine even finished rumbling to a stop. Someone was kneeling in the mud near the mailbox. The figure was hunched, clothing plastered to their body, hair stuck to their cheeks. At first, through the rain and darkness, I thought a neighbor’s dog had gotten loose and someone was restraining it….
PART 1: The storm that night felt like something alive, like a beast clawing at the world with long fingers of rain and wind. My headlights struggled to cut through the sheets of water as I pulled into the quiet cul de sac of Redwood Grove, a suburban neighborhood not far from Albany. The gutters overflowed…
Milo pressed his face against the window. “Papa, can we help them?” he asked in a soft voice. Augustine did not look up. “Who, darling?” “Everyone. They look sad.” “We are not equipped to help today. I need to get you home.” The words tasted wrong even as he spoke them. They were automatic, reflexive,…
His five-year-old son Milo sat in the back seat of the black SUV, swinging his legs as he recounted the spelling test he had aced at Westlake Preparatory Academy. Augustine listened with half an ear, answering with the usual encouraging sounds while checking stock reports on his phone. The SUV came to a stop near…
PART 1: Heavy clouds smothered the sky above Eastbridge City as luxury sedans and yellow taxis crawled through the late afternoon traffic. Most Fridays, Augustine Harrow would have already been home in his mansion overlooking Harbor Bay. He preferred the coastal roads lined with glass storefronts and manicured parks. Today, however, an overturned tanker on the…
Grief had not softened with time. It had simply been buried under schedules, flights, negotiations, and exhaustion. I had handed over my children to caretakers, then to a woman who seemed heaven sent at the time. Patricia Moore. Rebecca’s close friend. Attentive, graceful, endlessly patient. Or so I believed. Patricia stepped into my life when…
On my desk, framed photographs waited in silence. In one, a woman stood in a sunlit garden, her smile gentle and unguarded. Rebecca. My first wife. She had possessed a calm strength that made the world feel steady. Beside her photo was another frame, smaller and worn. A little girl laughing, her cheeks flushed as…
PART 1: The last curve of my fountain pen across the contract felt heavier than it should have. It was already past nine in the evening, and the glass walls of my office reflected a man who looked powerful yet hollow. Below, Chicago stretched endlessly, its lights sharp and distant like stars that no longer warmed…
