They say when God closes one door, he has another opened and waiting for you. A new life, fresh start with the fruits of everything you labored so hard for.

He must have forgotten me and mine, skimmed and glossed over my life and it’s work. Handed down the scraps of a barely there existence when my name finally appeared at the very end of his list.

I’m convinced.

And so here I stand, a tattered suitcase in hand and few belongings as I look upon the last door he shut to me. Inside I could hear the intense laughter of the family I’d lost, found myself wishing I didn’t need to disrupt them in this pained time of my life.

But where else would I go? Who else would care for me the way the many nurses at St. Percival’s had? I couldn’t be trusted to return to the solitude of my own home.

So I knocked, and waited with angst and worrying turning somersaults in the pit of my stomach. A long five minutes passed before the front door slowly creaked open, and I came face to face with a hardened grimace and two turned up noses.

“Well, look who’s finally good enough to return home.”

My eldest sister was elbowed in her shoulder by my mother, her grimace melting into a warm smile. “Welcome home, Justine. I’m very happy to have you back.”

And even with that, I wasn’t too sure if I was happy to be back. Wasn’t too sure about anything anymore.

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