“I’m sorry, Hannah,” she said.

Hannah did not answer, and I did not push her to, because her forgiveness was hers to give or withhold on her own timeline, and no one, least of all me, had the right to take that from her too.

I put the truck in drive, and I left my sister standing in front of the grand brick house she had spent her whole life using to measure her own worth — alone, in front of a home that was no longer hers.

Chapter 18 — Land Is a Responsibility