I look at her for a long second, my best friend who stayed glued to my side the entire flight, who didn’t even complain once when turbulence made my entire spine lock up. She’s trying to stay positive, but she looks like she could fall asleep leaning against the wall.
“That won’t work,” I murmur.
She lifts her brows, ready to regroup, ready to problem-solve even when she’s swaying on her feet.
“I have a better idea,” I say.
I don’t let myself think too hard about it. If I give my mind even one inch of space, the nerves will spill out everywhere.
Instead, I grab her wrist gently and pull her toward the rental counter.
We rent a Nissan Sedan—nothing fancy, just something that won’t break down on the uneven rural roads I grew up driving.
By the time we step outside, the sun sits low, the October air cool enough to nip at the edges of my hoodie. I unlock the car, and we slide inside.
When the door shuts, a soft silence folds around us, and the leather smell hits me hard.
“Where to?” Clara mumbles behind a yawn she doesn’t even try to hide.
I type the address into the GPS with hands that don’t feel like they belong to me.
The familiar route appears on the screen. My breath stutters for a beat. She doesn’t notice, because she’s already sinking back in her seat.
I start the engine.
The road curves the same way it always has, quiet stretches of highway giving way to long fields that look exactly as I remember them—golden, sleepy, touched by the beginning of fall.
My pulse quickens with every mile. Nothing in me feels prepared for this. I haven’t seen this place in years, and even though I rehearsed this moment in my head, my body feels like it’s approaching a ghost.
Not the house. Me.
I left a version of myself here that I never came back for.
When we turn onto the last road, my breath catches at the back of my throat. The house comes into view slowly, almost shyly, like it’s deciding whether it recognizes me.
The porch, the chipped railing, the tall pine leaning just a little to the left. Shadows hug the edges of the place, but the sight of it hits deep enough to knock something loose inside my chest.
When I put the car in park, my fingers tremble on the keys.
Clara looks around. “This is…?”
“Home,” I whisper, though the word feels foreign and familiar at the same time.
Her eyes widen, but she doesn’t say a word. She knows me too well to ask anything right now.
As I step out, the air presses cool against my face, grounding me as the past and present collide. The house looks almost untouched, maybe a little more worn, but not abandoned.
The porch steps are still intact. The siding hasn’t peeled much. Someone must have cared, at least a little.
But the padlock on the front door is enormous. A thick, heavy metal thing that looks like it means business.
I blink, startled. I try the knob anyway, even though I know it’s pointless.
Clara comes to stand beside me. “Do you have a key?”
Her voice is gentle, and I love her for it.
“No.” My throat tightens. “Not anymore.”
