But it did.
More than I wanted to admit.
Because I had no idea what family was supposed to feel like.
Maybe it felt like sitting in a warm living room beside an old woman insulting your haircut while pretending not to notice you finally looked less lonely.
Then one morning, I found her dead.
She didn’t answer the door.
I used the spare key.
The television still played quietly in the background.
A cup of tea sat cold beside her chair.
And Mrs. Rhode sat perfectly still.
I knew immediately.
Still, I crossed the room and whispered her name anyway.
Then I dropped beside her chair and cried harder than I had cried in years.
Part 3
The pounding on my front door the next morning dragged me out of exhausted sleep.
I opened it looking half-dead.
