Every time I enter, I go through the garage door. Cats creep around the corner and hide in tight spaces, curious of my presence. The dogs stand so close to you that you can smell the backyard radiating off their coats. Jane sits on the couch, holding her sore belly, and you can smell her wine, a strong, yet comforting aroma. The room is littered with papers, medical bills, unfinished business. I stare at the painting on the wall, Quinn's creation of her father skydiving. The colors are vivid and his smile stretches across his face and I always wonder to myself, is it genuine or is it how she envisions him? Is her imagination infected with a smile she hasn’t seen in years? This isn’t the reality of the situation yet I don’t have the heart to ask her about it. I begin to cook and clean and I spend the night crying to them with my head in Jane's lap, happily intoxicated by the smell of her wine and I truly don’t want to go home.