Amelia’s POV

I stand outside my mother’s apartment building, staring at the chipped paint and trying to find courage I don’t have. Three weeks of avoiding my mum and deflecting her calls.

The hallway's scent made me nostalgic.

I knock.

My mother opens the door, and the relief on her face almost made me cry. She’s thinner, grayer, worn down by the worry I caused. “Amelia.” She pulls me into a hug that smells like vanilla perfume and broken promises. “Oh, ...