Trust it.
It knows the way back.
P.S. The boy in the photograph never stopped looking at you that way. Not once in all the years I knew him. Some loves are inevitable.
Stop running from yours.
With love,
Alfie
I press the letter to my chest and sob hysterically.
Alfie knew. Of course he knew. He saw it when we were eight years old and he saw it every summer after that. Saw what we were too young or too scared or too damaged to see ourselves.
Home.
The word sits heavy in my chest, familiar and tender all at once.
Eden wasn't perfect. But some places leave a mark on you—the kind you don't erase, no matter how far you go. Some people become home in a way geography never can.
I fold the letter carefully, tuck it and the photograph into my journal where I can keep them safe.
For the first time since leaving Eden, I don't feel torn.
I feel sure.
The Horizon Picturesbuilding is exactly as I remember—all glass and steel and the kind of architectural arrogance that screamswe're more important than you.
I walk past the receptionist with the confidence of someone who has nothing left to lose. She calls after me but I don't stop. Just head straight for the executive floor where I know Wes will be.
His assistant—Elise, young and perpetually anxious—jumps up when she sees me.
"Ms. Wells, you can't just?—"
"Is he in a meeting?"
"Yes, but?—"
"Perfect. I love an audience."
I don't wait for permission, just open the door to Wes's office and step inside. He's at his desk, on the phone with what I'm sure is someone who thinks they're more important than they actually are.
The irritation that crosses his face when he sees me is almost satisfying enough to make this worth it all by itself.
“Steven, I’ll call you back," he says into the phone, then hangs up. "You finally decided to come home, did you?"
“We both know this was never my home. We need to talk about my film."
He leans back in his chair, that condescending smile I used to find charming now just making me want to throw something heavy at his fucking head.
"Your film now?"
“Always was. You just convinced me otherwise for a while."
I pull the envelope from my bag—the one Alex spent two days reviewing and finalizing—and set it on his desk with deliberate care.
"I'm removing you from the project. Effective immediately."
