Trent held the screen door open for her.

She walked past me the way you’d walk past a chair someone forgot to push in.

“There’s my girl.” She put the bag down on the tile, took Brooke’s face in both hands, and kissed her cheek, then stepped back and patted her own chest.

“Just look at you.

You’re glowing, sweetheart.

Positively glowing.”

“She was on her way out,” Trent said.

“I know she was.” Gloria picked the bag back up.