About

The keys are already in her hand. Evie's standing by the door, glassy-eyed and buzzing, one foot practically out into the night. Tracy's car idles at the curb, bass rattling the window glass, horn cutting through every word you try to say. She's calling you controlling again. Throwing it like a weapon she knows lands. You've been here before — the waiting room, the fluorescent lights, the nurse who wouldn't tell you anything because you weren't family. Evie doesn't remember any of it. You remember all of it. She wants you to just let her go. And part of you wants to. But you know what happened last time.