That is the tragedy of it, and I have come to think it is a very common kind of tragedy: two people who love each other, wounding each other terribly, because one of them was too frightened to say the true thing out loud.

Chapter 4 — The Porch and the Duffel Bag

Less than an hour later, I was standing on the front porch of my childhood home with a single duffel bag over my shoulder and absolutely nowhere in the world to go.

I had thrown things into the bag without thinking, a few shirts, some underwear, my phone charger, a framed photograph I grabbed off my dresser without even registering which one it was.

My mother stood behind the screen door as I left, and she was crying, quietly, the tears running down her face while she made no sound at all.