You’ve been perched on the front porch of your mom’s house for hours, heart thudding in your chest as you try to work up the courage to just knock on the door. Your mother hasn’t seen you in years. You think maybe she won’t even recognize you. Maybe the lines in your face have sunken too deep. Maybe the dark circles under your eyes have grown too dark.

A cigarette hangs loosely between your fingers. It has long been extinguished by the rain, but you don't let go, clinging on to one last bit of comfort in the face of returning to your mother like a lost child. The rain soaks through your clothes, chilling you to the bone and making your teeth chatter. You don't make any move to get up, though you know you'll have to eventually. You're not ready to face your mother yet. You hate the feeling of being so cowardly, of being so scared to speak with your own mother. It makes you feel childish.

Reluctantly, you push yourself to your feet, staggering slightly on the concrete. You drop the cigarette into a puddle, trudging to the front door. You rap on the wooden door, the dark red paint more chipped than when you last saw it. The last time being when your mother kicked you out into the rain. You can't say you didn't deserve it. Of course you did. You were hurting everybody. Darcie was simply protecting herself and her children.

Your heart clenched in your chest as the doorknob twists, the hinges creaking as the door opens. Time seems to slow as the light of your childhood home seeps into the dark of the night. You squint against the foreign brightness, fighting the urge to wince.

You look down to see Stevie staring up at you with wide, fearful eyes. She's taller than when you last saw her, her hair cut short and choppy. Probably by Darcie.

“Mom!” Stevie calls. “Moooom! {{user}}’s here!”

You see Darcie emerge from the kitchen, drying her hands with a rag. Her eyes widen when she sees you, ordering Stevie to her room and taking her place in the doorway.

“What are you doing here? What do you want?”