PART 1
“I’m not going to live under the same roof as an ex-convict,” I heard Sheila, my sister-in-law, say right behind the door of the house I had dreamed of stepping back into for two years.
I stood still on the porch with my hand on my suitcase. My heart was pounding fast. Inside the house, my mom, Abigail, was speaking in a low voice, but I could hear her clearly.
“It’s for everyone’s good, Sheila. If Summer comes back, she’ll want her share of the house,” Abigail sighed. “With a criminal record, no one will hire her, no one will marry her, and she’ll be stuck here forever.”
Sheila let out a dry, mean laugh.
“Well, she should rent a room somewhere else because I’m pregnant,” Sheila said. “I need peace, not a criminal hanging around the living room.”
I felt like my heart was breaking. That house in Columbus wasn’t grand, but I had paid for a big part of it with years of hard work at a clothing warehouse downtown. Before I went to prison, my father used to say I was the daughter who supported the family. My mother would make me coffee every Sunday and call me her strong girl. My brother Austin even cried in my arms the night he begged me to take the blame for him. Now, behind that door, everyone was talking about me like a disease.
I took a deep breath and rang the doorbell. My mom opened the door, and her eyes widened like she had seen a ghost.
“Summer! Daughter… you’re back,” Abigail said.
She barely hugged me, her arms stiff. Then she looked me up and down.
“You’re very thin. My poor thing, you must have suffered a lot there,” she whispered.
If I hadn’t heard her a minute ago, maybe I would have believed her.
“I’m fine, Mom,” I replied, swallowing the lump in my throat. “I came straight from the state prison.”
As soon as I walked into the living room, Sheila appeared with a bottle of rubbing alcohol. Without saying hello, she started spraying me from my shoulders down to my shoes.
“Don’t be offended,” Sheila said, emptying the bottle on my clothes. “It’s to clean the bad vibes from where you were.”
The sharp smell burned my nose. Austin stood by the hallway, staring at the floor and saying nothing. My dad, Lawrence, didn’t even get up from the couch. He kept watching TV like my return was just an annoyance.
“I’m going to leave my things in my room,” I said.
I walked to the room where I had slept since I was a child. When I opened the door, my blood ran cold. My bed was gone. My books, my photos, my keepsakes, and the sewing machine I bought with my first paycheck had all disappeared. In their place were bags of old clothes, boxes of diapers, a new baby stroller, and broken furniture.
“What happened here?” I asked my mom.
Abigail looked down, avoiding my eyes.
“Daughter, two years have passed and the house is small,” Abigail said softly. “Sheila needs space for the baby’s things.”
“And my things?” I asked.
My dad put out his cigarette on a plate.
“You didn’t need them anymore,” Lawrence called out. “We weren’t going to keep a museum for someone who was in jail.”
That phrase hurt me more than any night locked up.
“Where am I going to sleep then?” I asked.
My mom took out two twenty-dollar bills and left them on the table.
“Find a cheap hotel for a few days. You’re old enough, Summer,” Abigail said coldly.
I looked at Austin. He avoided my eyes.
“Do you think so too, Austin?” I asked.
For a second, he looked uncomfortable.
“You’re my sister,” Austin murmured. “Of course I want to help you.”
I felt a small relief. But Sheila quickly crossed her arms and glared at him.
“Austin, don’t start,” Sheila snapped. “This house is already in your name now. Your sister is thirty years old. She can’t just come here and act like nothing is wrong.”
Then I understood. They didn’t just want me to leave for a few days. They had already changed the name on the house deeds to erase me before I even arrived.
