It was nearly midnight, but it was a Saturday night, one of the busiest for the bar. Dad would be helping out his brothers, and Mom would be at home, waiting up for him. I’d logged in to Ryan’s app to check on the cameras he’d put up around the house to watch me while I was still living with my parents, only to find they had been turned off. From what I could tell, the cameras were still there and could be activated with a click of a button, but for the moment, they weren’t on. The only people I needed to worry about were Aunt Raven and Uncle Bash, but if things got really crazy at Hannigans’, then they both went in to help out.

With my hair pulled into a ponytail and tucked under the black hood of my sweatshirt, I moved like a shadow through the darkness. My bedroom was on the second floor, but much to Ryan’s frustration, I’d always kept my window unlocked. Hoping it still was, I climbed up the tree in the backyard. My shoulder still wasn’t fully healed, but I hadn’t told anyone about the continued issues I had with it. Between worrying over Cali and the baby as well as running the business, I already had too much on my plate to deal with possible surgery if something happened to be torn in it. I had to take it as easy as I could getting from branch to branch, all while making sure no one was looking out the window next door at Matt and Rory’s house.

It was a relief when I got high enough to jump onto the roof. Finding the window to my room thankfully unlocked, I slipped inside and closed it just as soundlessly. I hadn’t seen my aunt’s SUV in the driveway, and both Dad’s and Uncle Bash’s motorcycles were absent. The only vehicle I’d seen was Mom’s, which was what I’d expected and hoped for.

But it wasn’t like I could just ring the doorbell. If I did while Mom still thought I was dead, it would probably make her scream the house down. I wasn’t all that confident she wouldn’t anyway, but answering the door at midnight and finding your supposedly dead daughter on the front steps would give just about anyone a heart attack.

Still being stealthy, I moved through the house, listening for any sign of Mom.

Movement in the kitchen pulled my attention. As I descended the stairs, I pushed the hood off my head. The television was on in the living room, and I could smell popcorn. My stomach rumbled at the scent of one of my favorite snacks. Mom would always mix M&Ms in with the salted, buttery goodness and add a handful of white cheddar Cheetos. I licked my lips hungrily as I eased the door to the kitchen open.

Mom’s back was to me as she poured hot water into a mug. Normally she would have been humming to herself, always so happy and content. But right then, her shoulders were stiff, and I caught the faint sound of sniffling. Realizing she was crying, I stepped into the kitchen and quietly eased the swinging door closed.