We chose a house in the North Shore because it had the best school district for Scarlette. She was only in preschool, so there wasn’t pressure to enroll her right away—especially with the holidays coming up—but with Ollie’s visa delayed and our furniture stuck in transit, we needed to move in November. Nova had already taken the job with the Ravens, and they needed her.
The plane ride was quiet. So was the cab. No one said much, and I didn’t blame them. The house was beautiful, and thankfully, there was a separate guesthouse tucked behind it. After months in a cramped garden apartment, I was grateful for the space. It wasn’t big—only a loft bedroom, a small kitchen, and a little living area—but it was mine. A soft place to land, even if it was temporary.
Aunt Mae, Nova’s aunt who lived in the city, had driven up to check it out before we finalized the purchase. She made sure the guesthouse was livable, that everything looked nice. I wasn’tplanning on staying long, but Nova still made sure there was space for me.
“I’m sorry again,” I whispered as the cab pulled onto our new street.
“Please,” Nova begged, running a hand through her curls. “Stop apologizing.”
I looked away, my stomach tight with guilt. I’d said sorry so many times it felt meaningless now, but I couldn’t stop. I’d upended their lives by dragging her and Scarlette across the ocean and shaking the foundation she’d built with Ollie.
Nova reached across the seat and squeezed my hand. “You’re not a burden, Luna. We’re here because we love you. You did it for me once. I’m returning the favor.”
It felt like a debt I could never repay instead of a favor.
The cab slowed in front of the house, its white trim glowing faintly in the overcast light. I took a breath and stared out the window at our new reality. I didn’t know how to make things right—not yet—but I’d figure it out. For Nova. For Scarlette. For the woman I was still trying to become.
I helped the Uber driver grab the bags while Nova brought Scarlette inside. Aunt Mae had some people come by earlier in the week to set up the basics, but we didn’t have much yet. No couch. No dining table. Just beds—one for Nova, one for Scarlette, and one for me in the guesthouse. That was about it.
I thanked the driver, tipped him, and followed them inside the main house. The air was thick with travel fatigue, and the late hour didn’t help. Our trip had been delay after delay.
The hardwood floors echoed under our shoes as we moved through the space. The walls were bare, and without curtains or rugs, every sound bounced around like it didn’t belong. It was beautiful, sure—Nova had picked a good one—but it still felt foreign.
I told myself it was temporary. Just a place to get my bearings until I figured out what came next.
“Hopefully she stays asleep for the night,” Nova said as we reached the top of the stairs, Scarlette’s limbs flopped over her shoulder like a tired octopus.
I snorted. “If she wakes up asking for a snack, I’m faking a leg cramp.”
Nova tried not to laugh too loud. “You’re awful.”
“I’m resourceful.” I corrected her, opening the door to Scarlette’s new room. “There’s a difference.”
We tucked her in and tiptoed out.
Nova turned to me once the door clicked shut behind us. “She’s really out.”
“For now,” I said. “But let’s not jinx it. I’ve seen her rage over the wrong color sippy cup.”
Nova smirked. “I still can’t believe we moved halfway across the world.”
I tried to do what I did best and lighten the mood. “Still can’t believe you have a kid who negotiates bedtime like a divorce lawyer.”
Nova burst out laughing. “Shut up and help me find the wine.”
Nowthatmade me smile. “Finally. A language I speak fluently.”
We ordered in the most offensive-looking deep dish pizza we could find—extra cheese, extra sausage—and split a bottle of red. With a nonexistent couch, we sat on the floor surrounded by a mountain of mismatched blankets I’d scrounged up from a hall closet that smelled vaguely like Aunt Mae.
Nova had called Ollie to let him know we’d arrived, and now she was scrolling through a group chat, half listening to me rant about the plans for the house.
“Don’t get me wrong,” I said, flopping backward and staring at the ceiling. “I love British food—kidding, I don’t—but this?” I held up a greasy slice like it was holy scripture. “This is art. This is home.”
“Remember when we thought deep dish was a personality trait?” Nova asked, nudging my knee with hers.
I smirked. “Still is. If you don’t risk third-degree burns on the roof of your mouth for that first bite, do you even love yourself?”
She laughed and took another sip of wine. “You know, I’m starting to think you only dragged me back here for the pizza.”
