Two hours later, our convoy pulls into my father’s driveway.
Almost before the car stops, I yank off my seatbelt and start to open my door, desperate to know if they’re here.
“Evelyn –“ Victor calls as I jump step out of the car, slamming the door behind me. I hear him open his own door as I quickly scent the air, seeking any sign of my missing children. Then –
“They’re here,” I say, catching a quick whiff of Alvin’s unique scent on the air. Not too old, either. I run for the front steps, Victor close on my tail.
“Evelyn, please,” Victor says as we fly up the steps, “we’ve got to be careful here –“
I ignore him, throwing open my old front door, a door I haven’t seen or touched in six years. Everything is at once familiar and yet also so strange – tiny changes –
I don’t stop t
