I froze just past the doorway.
Lily was already in her arms, climbing into her lap with the ease of a child who adored her. Claire’s back was to me, her honey-blonde hair pulled into a loose braid that fell over her shoulder, a few strands escaping to brush her cheek. She murmured something soft to Lily, smoothing her wild hair with one steady hand.
She looked older. Softer in places, stronger in others. A knit sweater hung loose on her shoulders, cream-colored and slightly oversized, the sleeves pushed up to her elbows. Her legs were crossed at the ankles; stockings and a simple dress turned her into a picture I wasn’t ready for.
God.
For a second, I genuinely thought my knees might give out.
Ten years should’ve dulled this. Should’ve removed that rush, that electric awareness, that invisible string tugging tight in my chest.
It didn’t.
Seeing her like this, gentle and solid, stitched unmistakably into Lily’s world, all I could think was: This could’ve been my life. Ours. If I hadn’t been young and stupid.
I stood there longer than I should’ve, gripping the grocery bag like a lifeline and trying to brace for the impact of her. She didn’t see me yet, which gave me time to absorb the sight of her.
She had changed. In ways that made her more… real. More grounded. A woman now, not the girl whose heart I’d broken because I didn’t know how to love someone properly back then. She’d put on the kind of weight that came from living a full life, not stressing over being enough. Her curves softened her edges, and she carried herself like someone who was sure of her place in the world.
And yet…
She also hadn’t changed. That same quiet glow. Those freckles across her nose. The way she leaned in when she cared about someone, and the whole room shifted around her when she did.
She was still Claire.
Still the only person who ever saw the best in me before I knew it existed.
Still the person whose absence had carved out pieces of me I pretended I didn’t miss.
Lily murmured something into her shoulder. Claire’s hand stroked her back in slow, soothing circles. The kind of touch I still remembered, and sometimes if I’m very lucky, dream about.
But then Lily twisted, shifting off Claire’s lap.
And Claire tensed.
Barely. But enough that I felt it across the room.
I swallowed hard.
Lily turned toward the counters, spotting the ice cream we’d bought. She reached for a spoon. Claire caught her wrist.
“Small bowl,” she reminded, voice light but firm.
Then Claire lifted her chin and she turned. Slowly. Like bracing for impact.
Her eyes hit me like a punch to the ribs. Green, with flecks of gold I’d memorized once upon a time. Eyes bright enough to undo me, even now.
For a moment, one suspended, breathless moment, the kitchen shrank around us. Just her and me. Just everything we’d been and everything we weren’t anymore.
Her lips parted slightly. I felt every inch of space between us like it was charged.
She looked at me the way you look at a ghost you aren’t sure you’re ready to see, part shock and part ache, part something that hurt too much to name.
Memory. Longing. Loss.
Maybe all of them.
Her lashes lowered, and she exhaled in a tremor she tried to hide. Her fingers curled against her knee, tightening as if to remind herself she wasn’t sixteen anymore, wasn’t the girl who’d loved me with that furious, tender innocence that I didn’t deserve.
