Emma

We had arrived to Rett’s home through the underground garage. I recognized the decline in the road, the different scents once the car door opened, and the way Rett’s voice echoed in the concrete cavern.

Despite my offers to walk, I remained cradled against his chest as he carried me up the cement stairs. The sounds around us changed as we entered his home. Over the last week, I’d learned to rely more on my other senses as my sight ...