Abby pulled up in front of Wyatt’s home. Her family’s home, before the bank took it all away.

It was still weird to see it a sage green, so different from the white her mom had liked. She knew that time went on, and Shelly, Wyatt’s wife, had had every right to paint her house whatever color she wanted.

It still seemed a little sacrilegious to Abby, but then again, her and Dad had basically turned everything her mom ever touched into a shrine. And maybe that wasn’t healthy either.

She looked over at the tire swing hanging from the oak tree’s branches, swaying slightly in the cold winter winds. Abby had spent so many summer days on that tire swing, stretching her legs up to the sky, just sure that if she pumped her legs hard enough, she’d be able to flip...

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