I knocked anyway. The door opened just enough for a woman to look at me without inviting me in. Her hair was perfectly styled, her sweater pressed, her eyes sharp with irritation rather than surprise.

“You should not be here,” she said flatly.

I swallowed. “I just got out. I need to see my father.”

Her mouth tightened. “He passed away last year. There was a funeral. This house belongs to us now.”

I stared at her, trying to process the words. “I was never told.”

“That is not my problem,” she replied. “You should leave.”

Before I could say another word, the door closed.

I stood there for several minutes, unable to move, listening to the muffled sounds of a life continuing without me on the other side of that door. Then I turned away and walked. I walked until my legs burned and my thoughts blurred together. Eventually, without planning to, I found myself at the gates of the city cemetery.