I padded down the narrow hall, blinking, mind scrolling through possibilities. A package? An emergency? A maintenance issue? A wrong door?
The knocking turned into a rattle, like the person outside had decided politeness was optional.
I unlocked the deadbolt and opened the door.
There was my younger sister, Vanessa, standing in the hallway like she’d been delivered there by a spotlight.
Three huge suitcases sat upright at her feet, their glossy shells catching the hallway light. She wore leggings that looked new, a jacket with a clean, sharp cut, and designer sunglasses perched on her head, completely unnecessary indoors. Her hair was styled in loose waves, like she had time for that, like the morning had begun hours ago for her.
She looked… fresh. Not like someone in trouble. Not like someone who had slept on a friend’s couch or cried herself to sleep. She looked like she’d just stepped off a plane headed for a beach, or out of a boutique where people offered her sparkling water while she shopped.
She grinned at me with that familiar, practiced smile. The one she used when she wanted something and had already decided she was getting it.
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