The swing behind us creaked as though it, too, leaned in to witness.
My hands slid to her waist. Claire’s fingers fisted in my shirt, pulling me closer in a way that destroyed me completely.
In that moment, under the dying gold of the sun, under the budding branches of the old swing tree, with her pressed against me and tasting like spring and recklessness, I knew something with absolute certainty:
Nothing in my life would ever be the same again.
I would be marked by her, by her laugh, her scent, her soft, earnest bravery.
Even at seventeen, even in my inexperience and fumbling, I felt the truth of it land in my bones:
Claire wasn’t just the girl I loved.
She was the axis around which my entire world had already begun to turn.
Chapter 27
Ethan
I hadn’t slept well. Again.
The dreams kept returning, the same ones that had chased me the night I left town years ago. Dreams tangled with Claire’s voice, Matt’s laughter, Lily’s small hand slipping from mine, and a guilt that seemed to stain everything I touched.
But when I finally dragged myself out of bed and down the stairs, the morning was bright in a way that made the world look briefly new.
Through the kitchen window, I saw my father crouched near the garden bed loosening soil, Lily in a floppy sunhat sprinkling seeds with the concentration of a tiny farmer, and my mother kneeling as she tied up tomato vines. Mom brushed at her cheek to wipe away sweat.
I stepped outside, and Lily immediately straightened, her face lighting up.
“Uncle Ethan! Look!” She shoved a small trowel toward me as though presenting treasure. “Grandpa says I’m a natural farmer.”
“You are,” I said, lifting her under the arms and swinging her gently. She squealed, her hat tilting sideways.
My father shook his head. “Let her help, if she learns to plant weeds, it’s on you, son.”
“Uncle Ethan doesn’t know the difference between weeds and carrots,” Lily declared with the blunt honesty of a child.
It made us all laugh, genuinely happy.
My mom brushed dirt from Lily’s shoulder and said, “How about we plant sunflowers later? You can help me pick the best spot.”
Lily nodded vigorously.
I watched them, warmth mixing with a strange ache. The garden had always been my mom’s domain, a little sanctuary. The last time I’d seen her this at ease was before I had left. Something about the morning, the breeze, the laughter, the way my dad let Lily smear soil on his pants without one complaint, felt almost like healing.
A breeze rustled through the trees, and I looked toward the old oak. Its branches were bare now, except for a single rope scar where the swing used to hang.
I could see it clearly, Matt pumping his legs until the swing creaked, me running beneath him daring him to jump, Claire watching from the grass with a shy smile that had always made me want to be reckless and gentle at the same time.
“We need the swing again,” I murmured.
Mom heard me. “I thought the same,” she said softly. “That tree was with you boys through your whole childhood. It should be with your niece too.”
I swallowed a lump in my throat.
Lily tugged on my sleeve. “Make it go high, okay? When you fix it?”
I nodded. “Higher than anyone else’s swing.”
