“I’m fine, Mom. Everything’s okay. Don’t worry about me.”
I believed her. Maybe because I wanted to.
That afternoon, I took a taxi straight from the airport to her house. I hadn’t told her. I wanted to surprise her, to see her face light up when she opened the door and saw me there, with my suitcase and a box of gifts.
I imagined how it would happen.
“Mom!” she’d exclaim, hugging me. We’d laugh, maybe cry a little, and then we’d sit in her pretty kitchen drinking coffee like we did in our little apartment in Ohio.
The reality was very different.
The girl I didn’t recognize. Grace’s house stood behind stone columns and an iron gate, high above the city. A fountain adorned the entrance, and a long, palm-lined driveway led to the house. It looked like the kind of place you show off on social media.
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