Lucy shrugged. “A while. Mom, someone keeps walking past the window.” My heart jumped. I crossed the room, pulled back the beige curtain an inch, and saw a familiar silver sedan parked beside my car. Then someone knocked softly on the door, three times, the way my mother used to knock on my bedroom door when I was little.

I opened it with the chain still on. My mother stood outside in her winter coat, her hair uncombed, a grocery bag of cereal and milk in one hand. Behind her, on the sidewalk, sat her old blue suitcase. “I called every motel on this highway,” she said quietly. Then her voice broke. “Thirty-one years ago, I caught your father cheating. He told me to stop being dramatic and try again. I listened. I won’t watch you do the same.”