They were never done.
The worst visit happened on a Wednesday.
I remember because it was trash day, and the bins were still at the end of the driveway when I heard the doorbell.
I thought it was a package.
I opened the door without checking the camera because I had made the mistake of feeling normal for five minutes.
Dad was on the porch.
Mom stood behind him with her purse clutched to her chest.
He stepped forward before I could speak, one boot crossing the threshold as if the house had never belonged to me.
I told him to leave.
He said I needed to stop acting like a stranger.
