“Thank God,” Beth murmured, quiet enough that only Sunny could hear. “This house hasn’t been right without you.”
When Beth pulled back, her eyes were suspiciously bright. She cleared her throat, smoothing her cardigan with practiced hands.
“You must be exhausted after your journey,” she said, more loudly. “I’ve kept dinner warm. Nothing fancy, just a chicken casserole, but it’s hot.”
Sunny smiled gratefully, suddenly aware of the hollow emptiness in her stomach. She’d barely eaten all day, and the long drive back had been punctuated only by brief stops for coffee and sandwiches consumed in awkward silence.
“That soundswonderful,” she said sincerely.
The kitchen, normally the heart of family activity, felt both achingly familiar and subtly altered. Small changes caught Sunny’s attention — a different arrangement of spice jars, the fruit bowl moved to the opposite counter, a new set of children’s drawings magnetized to the refrigerator. Five days had been enough time for routines to shift, for patterns to adapt to her absence.
“I want to sit next to Sunny!” Hailey announced, scrambling onto a chair and patting the seat beside her with proprietary enthusiasm.
“No, I’m sitting next to Sunny,” Maddie countered, clutching Betty Bear in one arm while claiming the opposite chair.
Their bickering — so normal, so blessedly ordinary — brought a fresh wave of emotion. Sunny blinked rapidly, determined not to dissolve into tears again. These past days had wrung her dry, leaving her raw and vulnerable in ways she wasn’t accustomed to.
“I have two sides,” she reminded them, the familiar phrase slipping out automatically. It had been their standard resolution to this particular conflict for months.
The girls exchanged glances, momentarily startled by the return to routine, before breaking into matching grins.
“She remembers,” Hailey stage-whispered to her sister, as if Sunny couldn’t hear.
“Of course she remembers,” Maddie replied with exaggerated patience. “She was only gone for five days, not forever.”
Not forever. The words lingered in the air like a question.
As Beth served the casserole, Sunny took in the subtle signs of the past five days — the strain around Liam’s eyes despite his evident relief, the slightly manic energy of the girls, the careful way Beth ensured everyone had what they needed before serving herself. A family holding itself together through sheer force of will.
Dinner was a chaotic affair, with the girls interrupting each other in their eagernessto fill Sunny in on everything she’d missed. Their school projects, a butterfly they’d seen in the garden, how Maddie had gotten a gold star for her math test. Each story tumbled out with breathless intensity, as if they were afraid she might disappear again if they paused for too long.
“And Daddy was so sad,” Hailey declared between bites of casserole, her blunt observation landing like a stone in a still pond. “He didn’t even eat his pancakes.”
“Hailey,” Liam admonished gently, color rising in his cheeks.
“Well, you didn’t,” Hailey insisted, unrepentant. “And you kept looking at Sunny’s chair like it was going to explode.”
The simplicity of the child’s observation made Sunny’s chest tighten. She risked a glance at Liam, finding his eyes already on her — apologetic, embarrassed, but not denying his daughter’s assessment.
“I missed the pancakes,” Sunny said lightly, offering everyone a graceful exit from the moment. “No one makes them quite like Beth.”
“Beth doesn’t put blueberry faces on them,” Maddie pointed out logically. “Only you do that.”
The matter-of-fact declaration carried such weight that Sunny had to look down at her plate, overwhelmed again by the realization of her place in this family — how deeply woven she had become into the fabric of their daily lives, how essential her small touches had become to their sense of normalcy.
After dinner, Sunny found herself automatically falling into the bedtime routine — supervising tooth brushing, helping Hailey find her favorite pajama top, listening to Maddie practice her reading. It was as if her body remembered its place in this household even as her mind still cautioned her against too much certainty.
“Will you read us a story?” Hailey asked as Sunny tucked the blankets around her small form, her voice hopeful but tentative, as if uncertain whether this part of their routine would be restored as well.
“Of course,” Sunny replied, settling onto the edge of the bed. “Which one would you like?”
“The one about the bear family,” Maddie requested, already reaching for the dog-eared picture book on her nightstand. “The one where the little bear gets lost but finds his way home again.”
The significance of the choice wasn’t lost on Sunny. She accepted the book with careful hands, opening to the familiar first page. As she began to read, her voice found its rhythm, falling into the cadence of a hundred previous bedtime stories in this very room.
Halfway through, she became aware that both girls were fighting to keep their eyes open, the emotional exhaustion of the day catching up to them. By the final page, Hailey was sound asleep, her mouth slightly open, blonde curls splayed across the pillow. Maddie was struggling valiantly to stay awake, her eyelids growing heavier with each word.
“You’ll be here tomorrow?” Maddie murmured as Sunny closed the book, her voice thick with approaching sleep.
