While I was on vacation with my cousins, my phone lit up with one message: “Get on a plane home. Don’t tell your parents you’re coming.” When I landed, an attorney and two investigators

Pierce.

I placed yellow roses beneath it.

Thomas stood beside me, his hand resting lightly on my shoulder.

“I don’t know how to mourn people I don’t remember,” I said.

He looked at the road for a long time.

“Start by knowing they loved you,” he said. “The rest can come later.”

I nodded.

For most of my life, I believed home was a house at the end of a street continue reading …