Crossing the line
“You always did show up at the worst times.”
“Yeah,” I said softly. “But maybe this time it’s the right one.”
I reached for the doorknob, but she stopped me with a light touch to my arm. “Be careful,” she said.
“I will.”
Outside, the flashlights still blinked through the rain, relentless. I stepped into them anyway.
For the first time, I didn’t duck my head or rush for the car.
Let them film. Let them ask.
Ava watched from the window as I walked to my car, her silhouette framed against the dim light. For once, it didn’t feel like running from something — it felt like walking toward it.