Zane moved his weight to cut off my view of the wall.

“Don’t make a scene on the porch, Sarah,” he said.

“You changed the locks while I was at my job,” I said.

“I did what this family needed,” he said.

He stepped back into the hall and shut the door.

My old bedroom at my mother’s house on Maple Street was small and quiet.

At nine that night I sat on the edge of the narrow twin bed with the blue suitcase open on the rug.

My mother stood by the dresser, fiddling with her reading glasses on their silver chain as she watched me.