I turned so quickly I nearly dropped the knife. “Ethan?”
He crossed the small concrete strip in three long strides and hugged me tightly—tighter than he had when he was sixteen, all elbows and impatience. Now he was twenty-eight, broad-shouldered, clean-shaven, calmer in his expression. I hadn’t seen him in nearly three years, not since he moved to Chicago after law school. He called, sent birthday flowers, apologized for being busy. But seeing him standing in my doorway felt like sunlight entering a room that had forgotten morning.
“I wanted to surprise you,” he said.
“Well, you did.”
He stepped inside, and I watched his eyes take in everything—the stained curtain, the medicine bottles lined along the windowsill, the portable heater beside the bed. His smile faded.
“Why are you out here?” he asked quietly.
Before I could answer, the kitchen door from the main house slammed open. Brian strode across the yard, jaw already tight, with his wife Melissa behind him, arms crossed and wearing that permanent look of offense she carried whenever life didn’t revolve around her comfort.
