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As we approach the park’s boundary, the houses become more frequent, giving way to rows of old houses and apartment buildings. The sound of our footsteps is accompanied by the distant hum of traffic from Superior Street.
“You’ve been quiet,” he observes, casting a sideways glance at me.
“Just ...processing,” I admit. “I never imagined my life turning out this way.”
He nods. “Life rarely goes the way we envision. But sometimes, the unexpected turns lead us to where we need to be. At least, I hope.”
His optimism is touching, but the reality of my situation is hard to escape.
Before I know it, we’ve passed my house and we’re standing beside his Escalade.
“This is me,” he says, pointing to his vehicle. “Do you want to grab anything from inside before we leave?”
I glance toward the house. The soft glow of light filters to the street from a lamp in the window.
I don’t know if Seth is still inside. If he is, I don’t want to go back in.
“No,” I reply, shaking my head.
A mixture of anxiety and gratitude churns inside me as I realize I’m leaving with London.
Every little sound is amplified—the chirping of the late-night crickets, the rustling of the leaves in the trees, and even our own steady breathing.
With a nod, he unlocks the doors to his truck with a soft beep. Then, he guides me to the passenger side and opens the door for me—a chivalrous gesture that makes my heart beam.
Settling into the plush seats, I take a moment to watch London as he circles the vehicle and gets in. The dim interior light casts a soft glow on his face, highlighting his features—like the little grooves between his eyebrows as he thinks.
For a brief moment, everything else fades away, and it’s just the two of us—two old friends, or maybe something more … seeking comfort and understanding in a world that feels so overwhelming.
London starts the vehicle, the engine purring to life, and gently maneuvers us away from my neighborhood and out onto the street.
I stare out the window, barely taking in the familiar streets of East Duluth as they pass by. Instead, I focus on the street lamps, as they cast their fleeting beams of light. Each block we pass holds memories—fragments of a past life that seems so distant now—while others become more vivid.
London occasionally steals glances in my direction, and I can feel his concern rolling off of him.
“You okay?” he finally asks as he makes a left turn, steering us toward West Duluth.
I give a small nod. “Just ... a lot to take in.”
He exhales softly. “Understandable.”
The drive is almost meditative. While I’ve lived in East Duluth for a while now, it’s the other side—the west side—that holds my most cherished memories.
Before I know it, London pulls into our old neighborhood. I haven’t been back here in ages. Not since I went to college and my parents moved to Two Harbors.
He pulls up to the quaint two-story Victorian home I know like the back of my hand. Or at least, I used to. When I stare at the two homes side-by-side, despite small changes, like the fact that our treehouse is missing, I can almost envision that no time has passed.
“Here we are,” he says, turning off the engine.
His house stands proudly, its wooden facade bathed in the glow of his porch lights. Even in the dim lighting, I can make out a well-maintained garden and the silhouette of a swing hanging from a tree in the back.
We exit the vehicle in relative silence, London once again guiding me.
As we approach his front door, he pauses and turns to face me. “Lily, before we go in, just …” He chews on his bottom lip for a moment before continuing, “just know that you’re safe here. No judgments—no expectations.”
While I hadn’t really processed enough to think that far, I give him a thankful smile, and the weight on my shoulders feels a tad lighter.
Inside, the house is a blend of old-world charm and modern comfort. It’s clear someone—maybe London—has remodeled the home in recent years. The living room is cozy, with a plush, dark leather sofa and walls adorned with various paintings depicting the stars.
