I didn’t even check the little paper with the reentry office address.
I went straight home.
Or what I thought was home.
The bus dropped me three blocks away. I ran the last stretch, lungs burning, heart pounding like it was trying to make up for lost years. The street looked mostly the same—same cracked sidewalks, same maple tree leaning over the corner. But as I got closer, the details started to feel wrong.
The porch railing was still there, but the paint was fresher. The flower beds were different.
