I saw bruising near the inside of her forearm.
Not random bruises.
Needle marks.
Medical tape residue.
And beneath the neckline of her shirt, I caught sight of the edge of a surgical dressing.
I looked at Mom.
Then Kendra.
Neither asked Naomi whether she needed to sit down.
Neither offered her water.
Neither behaved like a woman standing ten feet away from us looked frighteningly ill.
That told me more than their words did.
I had spent years learning not to react before understanding the battlefield.
So I did something they clearly didn’t expect.
I smiled.
“I guess I picked one hell of a time to come home.”
Mom relaxed slightly.
Then I added, “Especially because I have some good news.”
Kendra’s eyes immediately sharpened.
