Chapter 11 - The First Spring Rain
The spring thaw brought a rush of melted snow down from the Rocky Mountains, turning the creeks around Colorado Springs into fast-moving ribbons of silver.
Inside the nursery, the afternoon sunlight streamed through the clean, polished windows, warming the pastel-blue walls where little Tristan Junior slept soundly in his crib. I stood by the rocking chair, folding tiny cotton onesies, when the gentle chime of the front doorbell echoed through the house.
I paused, listening.
In the months since Thanksgiving, the doorbell had rarely rung for uninvited guests. Word of the federal eviction and Gregory’s subsequent legal fallout had traveled fast through my parents’ social circles. No one dropped by unannounced anymore.
When I opened the front door, I didn't see a courier or a military escort.
Standing on the porch was my mother, looking older and smaller than she had during the holidays. Her hair was unstyled, her shoulders slumped beneath a worn raincoat, and she held a small, plastic-wrapped casserole dish in her trembling hands.
"Charlotte," she whispered, her voice cracking before I could even speak. "Can I... can I come in for just five minutes?"
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I didn't step back to widen the doorway. I kept my hand resting firmly on the wooden frame, looking down at the woman who had watched me pack my life into trash bags without offering a single word of defense.
"You're standing on the porch in the rain, Mom," I said calmly. "And you have five minutes."
