There was something about hitting an all-time low that made someone fearless—or maybe just stupid. Cora supposed there was a fine line between the two anyway. Regardless of exactly where that distinction was, Cora was definitely in its vicinity as she stood in the middle of a pristine sidewalk, squinting across the street at the white mansion reflecting the late afternoon sun. She couldn't be seen there. She knew that, and yet, there she was, a few steps away from where her world came crashing down around her—the first time, at least.

But as painful as it was, she couldn't look away. She remembered learning how to ride a bike on the brick driveway, becoming very skilled at making right turns as she circled around the marble fountain in the middle. She remembered staring at the side wall of the house as she tried to plan a route from her third floor balcony to the ground—not to sneak out, but to have an emergency escape in the event of a fire, burglary, or a vicious axe murderer from those horror movies her youngest sibling enjoyed. She remembered watching the landscaper trim the hedges into perfectly flat edges. When her mother scolded her for wasting time, Cora had said she was working on a science project, and the worker didn't hesitate to play along.

Maybe those memories had all been signs pointing to her future. During all of those moments, during her entire life, she had done nothing but waste time. If she hadn't done those things, if she had just focused a little more on what was important...maybe she would still be behind the wrought iron gate and tall stone walls. Maybe she would still be with her family.

"Excuse me," a curt voice said from beside her.

Cora jumped as she turned, then took a moment to blink the tears from her eyes. Next to her, a middle-aged woman glared at her, keeping one hand on the leash of her black and white Papillon and another inside the luxury leather purse on her shoulder.

"Do you live here?" the woman asked, her tone already indicating her assumption.

"Uh..." Cora began, but even that single sound managed to get caught in her throat. "No...but I used to."

The woman hummed with pursed lips as her gaze traveled up and down Cora. When Cora looked down, she realized she was still wearing her brown Cool Beans apron over her black polo shirt and pants.

"I don't know if you've seen the signs, dear, but there's no loitering allowed," the woman said, nodding at the light post behind her. "And we do take that seriously. Our neighborhood watch is very strict, and very good at what they do."

Cora gulped, her mouth feeling drier than ever. "Right. Sorry."

The woman stared her down for a few more seconds before continuing down the path with a sharp click of her tongue. Cora didn't miss how the woman pulled out her phone after a few steps, nor how she blatantly took a picture of Cora, the shutter sound echoing throughout the quiet residential street.

With a soft sigh, Cora retrieved her own phone, needing to plan her getaway before the rest of the upper class neighborhood came after her with pitchforks—or maybe a legion of electric cars was more likely. Regardless, any attention was undesirable, but when she unlocked her phone for the bus schedules, she saw dozens of missed calls and texts instead. Farron.

When Cora's thumb hovered over Farron's name, she paused. What would Farron think of her now? She barely made over minimum wage with her Cool Beans job, and now it was looking like Cora wouldn't even have that. Her rented apartment was in shambles, but Cora still couldn't afford such a luxury, and would probably be evicted in due time. On top of that, if Farron had seen where Cora had come from, how far she had fallen...her opinion of Cora would be ruined forever.

Even with those factors fresh in her mind, even though Cora knew exactly what was at stake, when Farron's name popped up on an incoming call, Cora answered. The only question was, was it a fearless move or a stupid one?

"Cora?" Farron exclaimed, breathless. Rushing wind and rumbling engines roared in the background. "Cora, is that you?"

"Y-yeah," Cora said, forcing the word out solely to assuage Farron's panic. "You're not driving, are you?"

"No, I'm pulled over. But Cora, are you okay? Where are you?"

At the sound of Farron's worry, a wave of guilt washed over Cora. "I'm fine. I'm...sorry."

There was a soft sigh. "Cora, you don't have to be sorry. You didn't do anything wrong. Just...where are you? I can go to you, just...please, tell me where you are."

She didn't do anything wrong? Cora doubted that, but she wasn't in any position to argue. Instead, she obeyed, giving Farron the address she had known her entire life, then holding her breath for the questions.

For a few seconds, Farron was quiet. "That's...the fancy area, right?"

Cora's next inhale was shaky. "Yeah."

After another pause, there was loud rustling in the background. "Alright, I should be there in ten minutes. Are you safe there? Do you need to go anywhere else?"

"I'm fine," Cora whispered. Hopefully, a parade of electric vehicles wasn't closing in on her. "I'll let you know, though."

"Okay, I'll be right there. And Cora?"

When Farron didn't continue, Cora cleared the tears from her throat. "Yeah?"

"None of that was your fault, okay? None of that."

While Cora didn't agree, the words in Farron's voice were strong enough to echo in her mind even long after their call ended, holding Cora together for at least a few minutes longer.

Unfortunately, a few minutes wasn't enough. While an electric motorcade didn't try to chase Cora out of the neighborhood, one such vehicle did slowly roll down the street, and when the familiar wrought iron gates began to swing open, Cora froze. She didn't recognize the sleek black car and she couldn't see the driver behind the tinted windows, but it didn't matter as they drove through the ornamental gates, circled the marble fountain, and stopped before the path to the grand oak doors. And when the driver stepped out, Cora couldn't help but take a step back.

The auntie at the bakery had been right. Cora looked just like her mom.

They had always looked similar, but Cora hadn't realized how much they resembled each other now that Cora was older. Their dark brown hair was about the same length, but while Cora wore hers in a thick braid, her mom left hers down, showing off the layers and styled shine. They were both slender and tall, although her mom's glossy black stilettos gave her a couple inches over Cora's grubby black sneakers. While they both wore black, Cora's coffee-stained polo and pants could be thrown in the washing machine with her shoes and turn out fine. The same couldn't be said for her mom's satin business dress that glistened in the sun.

Sure, Cora looked like her mom. But that was the only thing they were ever going to have in common.

"Cora!" Farron called from down the road, her voice slightly muffled.

Cora spun around for just long enough to see Farron dismounting her motorcycle, her helmet visor covering her eyes, before turning back to her old home. As loud as Farron had been, her mom hadn't heard, more focused on her ongoing phone call as she retrieved bags of groceries from the back seat.

"Cora!" Farron exclaimed from next to her, breathless. "Are you okay? Is everything—who is that?"

Even though Cora had expected the question, she still couldn't answer, not when her breath was stuck in her tight chest, holding her voice hostage. Instead, she took another step backwards, then another, as if trying to steady herself as the world kept forcing her forward.

Until Farron's hand wrapped around her arm, holding her steady. "Cora, I'm right here, okay? Focus on me. That's all you have to do. Just focus on me."

The wooden front doors opened. Her dad approached the driveway looking just like he did when Cora last saw him. His collared blue shirts and dark blue jeans were his trademark, and he would always be proud of how much he saved by ordering the shirts in bulk. In fact, the only difference was that his dark gray hair looked even thicker than before—perhaps because the most stressful part of his life was no longer around.

"Cora, we should go now," Farron said, her hand gently rubbing Cora's arm. "I know you don't like my bike, but can we at least take it out of here? We can figure out something else later, but for right now—"

When Cora's dad met her mom in the middle of the walkway to take her bags, he looked up and across the street—he looked at Cora.

If Farron said anything else, Cora couldn't hear it. Not at the sight of her dad freezing in place, just like Cora was. Not at the sight of her mom saying something to him, then turning around as well. It felt like it took both seconds and ages for her parents to face her, to look at her, to see her—for the first time in eight years.

And even after eight years, their expressions said nothing. There was no happiness or sadness, no excitement or disappointment—just nothing. Nothing but cold, blank stares.

Until her mom's gaze traveled down—to Cora's old black pants and grimy sneakers—then up—to Cora's stained brown apron and frazzled hair. When she finally met Cora's eyes, it was only for a moment before she turned and continued towards the house, leaving only with the phone pressed against her ear. A beat later, her dad's eyes narrowed, and after a slow shake of his head, he followed his wife inside.

Cora wasn't sure if she heard the click of the door herself, or if it was from her memories eight years ago—the last time she had heard that sound.

"Cora?" Farron whispered. "Are..." She sighed, squeezing Cora's arm. "Of course you're not okay."

That was accurate. Because even as tears filled Cora's eyes, even after she wrapped her arms around Farron, and even after she released her pent-up sob into Farron's shoulder, nothing changed. She hadn't changed. And there was nothing she could do about it.