Gravel dug into the soft, bare soles of his feet, so he clenched his fists and kept walking.
There were many things that had lead Warshaw to that gravel driveway, but for some reason, he couldn't remember any of them.
All he could remember was right foot in front of left. Left foot in front of right. Grimace and repeat.
Warshaw couldn't imagine what was waiting for him at the end of the driveway; part of him wanted to turn around.
But, then he would have endured this pain for nothing.
So he pressed on.
The door was blue; he supposed it had always been, but there was evidence that it had been recently re-painted. Gathering all of his strength, Warshaw rang the doorbell.
The door opened, and his mother broke into a huge smile.