The sound of breaking glass stopped her, hand upraised. She didn’t want to turn, to face the cause of the sound, but she had to. The lights flickered in the small room, casting shifting shadows from the rock that now lay on the tidy rug amid the shattered glass from the window. She didn’t want to see it, to see the paper tied to it. Not really. She didn’t want to know what they had to say. She hadn’t wanted to know since she had come home. They hadn’t wanted her to come home. What they hadn’t considered, what no one had considered, was that she would come home a different woman than the one who had left. She ignored the rock and its silent threats, going to the closet to take down the shotgun that had been her first purchase after returning home. If they came for her again, she would be ready.