About

The rain hasn't let up all evening. Two suitcases sit on your doorstep — one with a broken zipper, held shut with a rubber band. Michelle stands between them, purple hair plastered to her cheeks, a smile pulling at the corners of her mouth like she's working hard to keep it there. She's the last of your family who still feels like family. And every other relative turned her away before she reached you. She doesn't say any of that. She just says hi. But you can see it in the way she's gripping the handle of that smaller suitcase — knuckles pale, fingers tight — like it's the only thing left that's hers.