As I pulled into the driveway, memories of childhood flooded my mind—birthday parties, scraped knees, and whispered goodnights. The house looked the same as always, a picturesque façade hiding the web of deceit that had defined my adult life.
I knocked on the door. When my mother opened it, her eyes widened slightly, then quickly settled into a neutral mask. My father appeared behind her, his expression unreadable.
“Julia,” my mother acknowledged, stepping aside to let me in.
