“There’s the turn,” I said, pointing through the glass.

My mother’s house was a modest, two-story craftsman at the end of the block.

Usually, the porch light was a warm yellow glow.

Tonight, the house was dark.

Except for one light on the second floor.

That was the bedroom where the triplets slept.

A large black sedan was parked in the driveway, blocking my mother’s small sedan.

Two men in heavy dark coats stood on the porch.

They were shielding themselves from the rain under the small overhang.

“Those are Vivian’s men,” Garrett said.

The SUV screeched to a halt behind the black sedan.

Before the driver could even put the car in park, I threw the door open.

The cold wind hit me, soaking my hair instantly.

“Clara, wait!” Garrett called out behind me.

I didn’t wait.

I ran up the concrete walkway, my heels slipping on the wet grass.

One of the guards stepped forward, putting his hand on his belt.

“Ma’am, you need to step back,” he said.

“Get out of my way,” I said, my voice cold and hard. “This is my mother’s house.”