I pause mid-bite, carefully peeking at Holden, who looks just as surprised as I feel. He meets my eyes for a brief second, silently asking if this is okay. I nod. More than okay.
Bella’s gaze stays fixed on the swing, her fingers picking at the edge of her plate. “Dad built this swing, and it was our favorite place to talk. It holds many, many memories.”
Holden doesn’t say a word. He just listens, the way he always does, his hand resting securely on Vero’s back as she chews her bacon like it’s the best thing she’s ever tasted.
I swallow, my throat suddenly tight.
“When Dad died,” she says gently, “this was the only place I felt close to him. It was a sad place at first,” she glances at the swing, the worn ropes, the seat that’s held so many versions of all of us, “but now, it’s become a place of hope. Except for Mom—she still cries a lot when she’s here, like now.”
I huff out a small laugh, wiping a tear away. “Yeah. I really do.”
“So, I wanted to introduce you to our spot and welcome you to be a part of it.” Bella continues.
Holden’s jaw tightens, emotion flickering across his face before he clears his throat. “It’s a pretty special place,” he says.
“It is,” I agree.
“But, um, I already came here to talk to him.”
Bella’s eyes widen, just like mine. “You did?”
“Yeah. I wanted to thank him for putting all three of you in my path, to tell him I would take care of you forever.” He shrugs. “A little cardinal listened, and then he flew off, so I took it as a blessing.”
“Holden,” I whisper.
“No more tears, Mom, please. Let’s make this a new happy tradition instead.”
“What do you mean?” I ask her.
“Today is about making new memories. Happy ones. Ones that don’t erase Dad—because nothing ever could—but ones that grow beside him. Like we have. Maybe Sunday morning picnics will be our new favorites, and we can catch up on everything.”
Vero finally looks up, pancake crumbs on her cheeks. “I like the swing,” she says.
Holden smiles, brushing his thumb gently across her cheek. “I like this idea.”
That does it. Bella slides off the blanket and stands, holding her hand out toward me. “Come on, Mom. You should go first.”
I hesitate for only a second before standing, letting Bella pull me toward the swing. Holden follows, basket forgotten under the tree.
I sit, the familiar grass beneath me sending a rush of memories through my chest. Bella gestures for Holden to push.
I laugh, the sound surprising even me. Holden laughs too, the tension melting from his shoulders as he pushes a little higher.
“So tell me, Mom—how’s life changed in the last four years?” Bella asks, and in this moment—under the oak tree, surrounded by breakfast crumbs, bare feet, and love that is messy but feels steady—I know.
This place that taught us how to wish, dream, and grieve is now part of us, beginning again.
EPILOGUE
Home Is You by John Wiilde
Natalie - A YearLater
Dear Diary:
A year ago today, I started writing at the request of my therapist. She wanted me to journal. Most of this, you’ve witnessed via my entries, but I wanted to do a year at a glance and catch you up on everything.
This past year, Bella has blossomed into the badass she is today. We’re going to the last game of her second hockey season, and it’s the final in the league’s championship. Her team is even better than before. She loves it, and she’s so good at it. She says she’s not, that she’s just dedicated, but we will have to agree to disagree. I started with this entry because I think it has been my favorite thing to witness.
