“You can’t dump four store bags on the rug on her birthday and act like you just ran out for milk,” I said.

“I have every right to walk back into this house,” Vanessa said, her voice sharpening as she pulled her arms tighter across her chest.

“You left ten years ago on a Tuesday,” I said.

“You walked out to Rob’s car and never looked back at the porch.”

“I was younger back then,” she said, tapping the toe of her leather boot on the linoleum.

“I made a choice, and now I’m making it right.