Leo stood at the gate and stared at the house. The same potted geraniums. The same porch swing that creaked in the wind. The same welcome mat that promised warmth to anyone who did not know what lived behind the front door.
He remembered the dark years—anxiety that never slept, fear that settled into his bones, the way the other children learned to hold their breath in the hallway. Slowly, he climbed the steps and knocked.
The door opened almost at once. Elana’s smile appeared first—practised, bright—followed by the familiar, measuring look in her eyes.
He cleared his throat. “I was in the neighbourhood,” Leo said. “I just… couldn’t stay away from the place where I grew up.”
All proceeds are donated to the CLR Foundation.
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