My uncle got out of prison, and the whole family shut the door on him—except for my mom, who hugged him as if someone else were to blame.

Inside, the air thickened further, swirling around us like a living thing. It smelled of decay, of machinery long forgotten, and the memories of lives that once passed through here. We walked past rotting boxes and machines covered in dusty tarps, the weight of the past pressing down heavier with each step. My uncle led me to an office with a sealed continue reading …