A car pulled into the driveway, and through the window, I could see her.
Madison.
She had long dark hair, a dress the color of champagne, and she was leaning against the passenger door as if she had been waiting her whole life for him.
She waved at me through the glass. Polite. Composed. Smiling.
I waved back, but my hand felt heavy.
“Be home by midnight,” I said.
“I will.”
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He kissed my cheek.
Then I walked him down the driveway. I took a couple of photos of them together, saved Madison’s number in my phone, and made her take mine, just in case. Then she opened the car door for my son, and I stood there watching them with my hand pressed flat against my chest.
