Chapter 3 — The River House

The river house stood exactly where memory had placed it, which surprised him. So many things from childhood turned out to be smaller or different or gone entirely. But the house was there, white paint peeling in the same places, the porch still sagging on the left side where his father had never gotten around to fixing it. He stood at the gate and felt something loosen in his chest. Not sadness exactly. Something older than sadness. Recognition, maybe. The feeling of seeing a face you haven't seen in decades and knowing it immediately.