The knock on her door startled her. She set the letter she'd been reading down, peering through the window to see who it was. The face that stared back was beaten and bloody, but she knew it well. It wasn't the first time he'd shown up on her doorstep, like this.
Blood trickled down his head onto his chest. His lips were pleading, strained, but she couldn't hear him through the glass. Maybe she didn't want to hear him.
Her hand hovered over the knob, resisting the urge to fall back into the same old routine.
"Come in," she whispered.
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