He was staring at the floor, his shoulders slumped in defeat.

He did not look up when I started toward the door.

“Grace, if you walk out that door, you are dead to me,” my mother said.

Her voice was flat, devoid of any maternal warmth.

“I died a long time ago, Mother,” I said.

“When I realized what kind of house I was raised in.”

I walked past Colonel Whitaker, who did not try to stop me.

He smelled of stale tobacco and wet rain.

Aaron followed close behind me, his heavy tread echoing in the foyer.

We stepped out onto the wide stone porch.

The cold autumn rain hit my face, shocking my senses after the heat of the drawing room.

The wind was howling through the tall oaks that lined the driveway.

My car sat under the amber glow of the driveway lamp.

“We need to move fast,” Aaron said, pulling his collar up against the wet wind.

“Where are we going?” I asked, my keys jingling in my shaking hand.

“My apartment in Alexandria,” he said.

“I have a safe-deposit key there.”