I walked past the security monitors, my fingers finding the heavy silver ring in my pocket that held my new apartment key.

When I pushed through the heavy glass doors onto the courthouse steps, the autumn wind hit my face, sharp and smelling of dead leaves.

My mother was standing near the second stone pillar, her wool scarf pulled high around her neck.

She was holding a small brown paper bag, her fingers twisting her gold wedding band around her finger as she watched the doors.

“Mara,” she said, her voice a breathless whisper that barely carried over the sound of the street traffic.