Lucy laughs, a little caught off guard. But it's genuine.
Jake nods at her, calm and solid. "Took you long enough to wrangle this idiot."
Mom walks over slowly, her eyes shining, and takes Lucy's hands in hers. "Welcome to the family, sweetheart. You've already been in our hearts for a long time."
Lucy blushes, smiling. She looks at me, her eyes soft, and mouths, thank you.
Noah walks up beside me as I watch my family form around her like she's always belonged.
"Lucy and I talked on our way over here," he says, voice low. "She smiles when she talks about you now."
He pauses, watching her laugh at something Brentley says.
"So long as she's smiling... I can live with that."
He claps my shoulder and walks inside, leaving me on the porch watching my future take shape.
The next day, I help fix the broken stall door in the barn. It's hot, my shirt sticks to my back, and the brace on my arm digs into my skin. My hand slips twice, and I bite down on a curse. But I don't stop. Gritting my teeth, I keep going. Sweat drips into my eyes, but I blink it away.
Taking a step back, I shake out my arm, frustration bubbling under my skin. I drop the hammer and sit on the edge of a hay bale, head bowed, breath ragged.
"This thing giving you hell, too?" Grace's voice startles me.
I glance up to find her leaning against the stall, arms crossed.
"You hurt her," she says flatly.
I nod. No use pretending.
"I know."
She walks closer and kneels in front of me.
"You know what she was like before you? Before all of this? She was light. She was joy, and messy ideas, and big, impossible dreams. And after she lost you, first to the army, then to silence, some of that dimmed. But she never stopped fighting for you. Even when it hurt."
I swallow hard. "I didn't mean to…"
"Doesn't matter. She believed in you when you didn't. So, you damn well better start believing in her."
Her voice cracks a little at the end. And I realize she's not just defending her sister. She's protecting her.
"I'm trying," I say.
"Try harder," she replies, and then she's gone, back toward the main house.
Her words sting. But they settle somewhere deep, anchoring me.
That night, I pull out the new sketchbook Jake brought after he found out I set the old one on fire. My hand shakes as I flip to the first page. The pencil feels unfamiliar, almost foreign, like I'm holding part of an old life I'm not sure I'm ready to reclaim.
What if I can't do it? What if that part of me burned with the rest?
But I take a breath. I press the tip to the paper.
I draw the porch first. Then the rocking chair. Then the outline of a small house nestled into a field. Trees in the background. A swing hanging low.
Finally, I have to draw Lucy. Her bump. Her smile. Her hand in mine.
Next to it, I scribble a note:Build this before the baby comes.
