BRUCE

I descend the stairs of our home like I have for the past twenty-eight years and I have to admit that when I look around, I don't recognize my surroundings.

I've lived in this house for my entire life, yet right now, the place looks foreign to me.

My mother, or rather, my stepmother is standing near the exit. I'm not sure if she's waiting for Walter or me. We make eye contact and her face hardens. Did she always do this? Did I miss it because I loved her like a mother and trusted her? ...