Tiffany hated everything my mother left behind, including the photographs my father still kept in his office and the old jewelry box that sat untouched in his closet. Most of all she hated me, because my eyes looked exactly like my mother’s eyes and that reminder seemed to drive her insane.
With a violent shove she pushed me through the front door and I stumbled onto the cold concrete porch. A second later the door slammed shut behind me and the sound of the deadbolt locking echoed through the quiet suburban street.
It was the middle of November in Ohio and the temperature had already dropped close to freezing while icy rain fell steadily across the neighborhood. I was wearing nothing except an oversized shirt and thin pajama shorts.
Within seconds the rain soaked through my clothes and the cold wind cut through my skin like blades. My entire body began shaking uncontrollably as I pounded on the glass door.
“Tiffany please!” I shouted while pressing my palms against the door. Through the frosted glass I could see her standing calmly inside the warm living room.