Sienna

The car rolled to a stop in front of a quiet two-story house with white walls and a small front yard full of wilting flowers.

My stomach twisted. I hadn’t been here in almost two years.

Dad didn’t say a word. He just stared ahead, his hands still gripping the steering wheel even though the engine was already off. The silence between us felt like a wall made of glass—fragile, cold, and impossible to break through.

When he finally spoke, his voice was steady but low.

“She ...