![]() ![]() He stopped at the edge of the living room, and Roger wondered if his son imagined the space as it had been. He walked through the kitchen with an ankle monitor strapped to his left leg. ![]() He was 20 now, tall enough at 6’2″ that he towered over his father. The last time the boys had lived there, they’d been 15 and 11. Inside the house, pencil marks still notched the pantry wall, reminders of the boys Zac and his younger brother, Justin, had been. Roger Stringer climbed out of his red Nissan pickup and watched as his son Zac eyed the front door. ![]() They drove four hours south through Mississippi, back down the gravel road that led to a house that once belonged to a family. ![]()
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