The outdoor motion lights come on just as the crash reaches my ears. I’m out of bed, quick as can be, peering through the blinds. I’m hoping it’s just a cat, a raccoon. But instead, I have to sigh. Here you are again, home too late. Drunk. Stumbling over everything in your path.
I avert my eyes from the neighbors as I open the door for you. It’s in the dead of night, like this, when you come home, that I wish I had chosen differently. That I wish that I could escape, vanish. But you know I won’t. And I know it too.
Instead, I hold the door open and wait for you to come inside.