“You kept it out here,” she says gently.
“Yeah.”
She studies the photo now that it’s free from the shattered frame.
“She’s beautiful.”
There’s no edge to it.
No jealousy.
Just truth.
“She was,” I say.
Tessa glances up at me. “Is.”
That word lands differently.
“She is,” she repeats. “In here.”
She taps my chest lightly. Something in my ribcage shifts.
Most people don’t say her name. They talk around it. Avoid it.
Tessa doesn’t.
“Lauren,” she says softly.
I blink.
“You don’t have to tiptoe,” she continues. “She’s part of this house.”
“She’s part of me,” I answer.
“I know.”
She sets the photo carefully on the table.
“You’ll never stop loving her,” she says.
“Yeah. I just…don’t want you to think you’re competing with a ghost.”
I study her face, looking for insecurity. For doubt. I don’t find it.
“She’s Lacee’s mother,” Tessa continues. “She’s the reason you love the way you do.” My jaw tightens. “You love fiercely.You show up. You don’t run.” She pauses. “Even when you want to.”
That hits too close.
“You think I want to run?” I ask.
Her mouth curves faintly. “Every time things get too real.”
I step closer. “That’s not running.”
“It’s retreating.” She doesn’t back down. “You think wanting me means you’re betraying her.”
The words are quiet. Precise. I don’t answer. She takes that as confirmation.
