We heard Richard and Patricia sold the condo and moved to a retirement community in Florida, blaming the harsh Maine winters rather than their own burned bridges.

A year later, on the anniversary of the eviction, I pulled into the driveway after a long shift.

I saw Grace sitting on the curb.

For one terrifying, breath-stealing second, I was transported back in time. My heart slammed against my ribs. Then I put the car in park and saw the large sketchbook on her lap.

She wasn’t crying. She was drawing.

I walked over and sat down beside her on the cold concrete. “You okay?” I asked, bumping my shoulder against hers.