The house behind me was not innocent anymore.
But it was ours.
When Chloe reached the porch, she looked up and said, “Mom, can I have snack?”
Just like that.
Ordinary words.
Ordinary afternoon.
The kind of certainty I used to take for granted.
I opened the door and let her in.
Daniel’s coffee mug was by the kitchen island again.
Chloe’s backpack went back on the hook.
My key turned in the lock behind us.
And for the first time since 3:17 p.m. on the worst day of our lives, the sound did not make me flinch.
