“I didn’t know,” I whisper.
“I know.” She sighs. “Your mom and I loved each other. We just weren’t very good at showing it. And then time passed. Yearspassed. And resentment turns into habit. Before you know it, you don’t remember how to talk.”
The wind rushes against my window.
She keeps going, words gentle, steady.
“But I never stopped loving her. And when everything happened to you in Ohio…” Her voice breaks for half a second. “I told your mother I’d take you. No hesitation.”
My chest tightens.
I stare down at the cardboard cup, blinking fast.
“She didn’t ask twice,” Aunt Susan says. “She trusted me with you. And I know I mess up sometimes, and I know I’m not perfect, but I’m trying, Jade. I’m really trying to be someone you can lean on.”
Something pricks behind my eyes.
“I know,” I say, barely audible. “I know you are.”
We fall quiet again.
The latte warms my hands.
We drive past dunes. Salt grass. The smell of cold ocean. The sky stretching gray and flat above us.
I lean my head against the window.
For the first time today, the numbness bleeds into something smaller.
Not pain.
Not comfort.
Just… something human.
And maybe that’s enough for now.
Two
JADE
The cottage is even moreridiculous up close.
Three stories of weathered shingles and crisp white trim, the kind of house you’d expect to see on a magazine cover with captions like “Coastal Restoration Dream” or “Inside the Perfect New England Retreat.” Tall windows. A wraparound porch. Wind chimes that tinkle every time the ocean breathes.
Aunt Susan kills the engine and stretches her arms like she’s home.
“This is Irene’s place,” she says. “My best friend. The one I’m always on the phone with…”
My eyebrows lift.
“Irene lives here?”
“She owns a high-end spa in town. Her second husband works from home on his law cases—Boston firm, all remote now.”
I swallow.
“Oh.”
