For the first time, her double-wide looks like home.

The clothes scattered on the floor. The jumble of books next to the bed. The pan of mac and cheese still sitting on the stove, leftover from the dinner that feels years ago. The sight of it turns her stomach a little bit, so she quickly scrapes it into the sink and sets the pan to soak.

Doing that feels good. Safe.

She strips off her clothes as quickly as she can. She never wants to see them again. Balling them up, she shoves them into the trash under the sink, then scoops the macaroni out of the sink and throws it on top.

Doing that feels even better.

She pulls on a faded sweatshirt, left over from a high school cheerleading camp she didn’t attend, and crawls under the covers, curling tightly into a ball. She flips off the lamp.

A blue light penetrates the darkness. She picks up her phone. “Hello?”

“This is the state police department. We’re calling in regard to…”

She hangs up.

Taking the battery out of her phone, she flings it against the wall.