I’m Sarah Mitchell, thirty-two years old, single mother, and apparently, the family doormat. But I didn’t know that last part yet. Not really. Sure, there were signs I’d been ignoring for years, but denial is a powerful thing when you desperately want to believe your family loves you.

My phone buzzed around hour four. My mom’s name flashed on the screen, but I was merging onto I-90 and couldn’t answer. She didn’t leave a voicemail. Probably just excited that we’re coming, I thought.