In the image, her mother’s shoulders were lifted slightly, as though she were carrying something against her chest. That something was gone, though, the lower half of the image torn away. The only hint left was a flash of pink peeking above the ripped edge. If Margot wasn’t wrong, that was the top of a baby’s fist, reaching toward her mother’s face.

Margot backed away, her arms loose at her sides, her heart fracturing into painful shards that seemed to stab the pulpy flesh inside her with every movement.

“Why?” she asked. Her voice echoed in the space, coming back in hollow loops. She swallowed a thick, unpleasant lump as her voice cracked. “What did I do wrong?”

The empty house gave her no answer.

5

The wind snatched Margot’s breath away as she opened her car’s back hatch. Two luggage cases were nestled in the tight space. She hauled them out, propping them upright by her side as she slammed the hatch closed again.

The sound ricocheted across the hilltop like a gun blast, and small, dark birds burst from a clump of tightly grown trees behind the house. Margot shielded her eyes against the cloud-muted glare and the spitting rain as she traced the birds’ path into the sky.

She felt very small and very alone.

The luggage cases had wheels, but they got bogged down in the soft dirt as she crossed the space between the car and her new home. Her breath came in sharp bursts. It would have been smarter to leave one case by the car and come back for it, she knew, but the empty stretch of lawn left her feeling uncomfortable in ways she couldn’t put into words, and she didn’t want to spend any more time on it than was necessary.

As she neared the stairs to the porch, a sharp whirr of wings made her pause. Another cloud of dark birds had exploded from their sheltering trees, this time a cluster growing closer to the wooden fence that circled the property. Margot watched them tear away in erratic jags, racing as though hell itself were on their tails.

She couldn’t blame herself for the disturbance this time. She knew she wouldn’t see anything, but Margot still let her eyes drop to the trees that had housed the birds. The trunks, thin and twisted, were a pained manifestation of poor soil and harsh winds. A multitude of heavy shadows crisscrossed the growth’s insides. She couldn’t see what had caused the birds to flee.

The luggage thumped with each step Margot climbed. She moved faster than she should have, and a stitch had formed in her side by the time she maneuvered them through the door. She bent over, inhaling stinging cold air.

Okay. Take a minute. Figure out the next step.