{"product_id":"saint-of-wolves-5-ebooks","title":"Saint of Wolves (5 Ebooks)","description":"\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003eThe fear was never that my mother would die.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003eIt was hearing her at the door and knowing the night had just gotten worse.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003eIn daylight, people adored her. She could pull her mouth into a sad little smile, touch a wrist, lower her voice, and make strangers feel cruel for doubting her. Teachers said she was trying. Church women said life had not been kind to her. Men offered rides, groceries, money, mercy.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003eThey got ten polished minutes.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003eI got the key missing the lock at one in the morning.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003eI knew the sounds. Metal scraping. A shoulder hitting the frame. The pause before the first step. From that alone, I could tell if she was drunk, high, furious, or so gone she might look right at me and see a wall.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003eThe night I still carry was summer-hot and airless. Milo had fallen asleep on the couch with the television flashing blue over his face. I was fourteen, stirring boxed macaroni, telling myself the same lie I always told: if food was ready, maybe she would eat; if she ate, maybe she would sleep; if she slept, maybe nothing in the apartment would get broken.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003eThen headlights slid across the kitchen wall.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003eMy stomach dropped.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003eI got to the door before she did. The hall smelled like wet concrete and stale beer. One shoe was gone. Mascara had bled under her eyes. Somebody else’s smoke clung to her hair. When she saw me, she smiled like I was the answer to a question she had forgotten asking.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003e“Baby.”\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003eThen she fell into me.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003eHer weight slammed the breath out of my chest. The smell hit next. Liquor. Sweat. Sweet rot under cheap perfume. Milo woke up crying in the next room while I dragged her inside with both arms locked around her ribs.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003eI got her to the bathroom.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003eThat part never left my hands.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003eHer wrist slipping through my grip. Her shoulder striking the tub. Tile biting through my knees. I held her hair while she vomited between us, hot and sour, and the plastic shower curtain stuck to my bare arm in the steam. She was crying by then, but not because Milo was sobbing for her. Not because I was fourteen and kneeling in her mess.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003eBecause she had lost an earring.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003eI found it under the toilet.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003eA tiny gold hoop. Warm from the floor.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003eShe looked at it in my palm and laughed. Clear. Mean. Awake in the worst way.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003eThen she said, “This city eats what you leave unattended.”\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003eI did not know if she meant herself.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003eYears later, I still thought she meant me.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003eAfter that, childhood narrowed into chores and waiting. Good mornings that made fools of us. School lunches packed like apologies. Then the vanishings. Calls to hospitals. Long sits outside county lockup. Men in and out. Bills tucked under sugar bowls. I learned how to sign forms, stretch groceries, lie to teachers, and keep Milo behind me when the door opened.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003eWhen she died, everyone got gentle.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003eThey said she loved us. They said addiction was an illness. At the funeral, women who had never climbed our stairs held my face and called me strong.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003eMy throat tightened so hard I thought I might choke.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003eStrong was what people called a girl nobody came back for.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003eSo I built my life around what could not charm me. Reports. Timelines. Evidence. I learned how to make a room surrender the truth it was hiding. I learned to trust blood before tears, paper before promises, the body before the mouth.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003eWhat hurt me taught me one rule: need is not love.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003eWhat I feared becoming was simpler. A woman who mistakes rescuing someone for being chosen by them.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003eWhat life had already taken felt simpler still. Rest. Trust. The right to hear a door open without bracing.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003eAnd still, some hard stupid part of me wanted one thing that would stay.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003eThe night before the first body dropped in the Quarter, my phone buzzed just after midnight.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003eUnknown number.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003eI almost let it ring.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003eThen I answered, and a man I had never heard before said, “Detective Vigne, if your brother walks home alone tonight, he won’t make it there.”\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e","brand":"August Publishing House","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":46044306669625,"sku":null,"price":14.99,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":true}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/0789\/4774\/5849\/files\/SaintofWolves.png?v=1782312115","url":"https:\/\/augustpublishinghouse.com\/products\/saint-of-wolves-5-ebooks","provider":"August Publishing House","version":"1.0","type":"link"}