Chapter One
Lila
The tires of my beat-up Honda crunched over the gravel driveway as if they were announcing my return, loud and final.
I killed the engine and sat for a second, staring at the familiar two-story colonial that used to feel like home and now felt like a museum of things I’d outgrown.
The paint on the shutters had faded to a tired gray-blue, the porch swing still hung crooked the way it always had, and the maple tree in the front yard had gotten taller, its branches brushing the second-floor windows like they were trying to reach inside.
Everything looked the same. But it all felt so different.
I popped the trunk, hauled out my duffle and the cardboard box of sketchbooks and laptop cables, and climbed the three steps to the front door. Before I could knock, it swung open.
Marcus.
He was bigger than I remembered, with broader shoulders and thicker arms. It was the kind of solid muscle that came from years of swinging hammers and hauling lumber rather than gym selfies.
His dark hair was streaked with more silver at the temples now, and the lines around his eyes had deepened, but those storm-gray irises were sharp and exactly the same.
His gaze flicked over me in one quick, assessing sweep from my chest to my hips, down my legs, and back up again. He didn’t smile right away. He just looked.
“Lila,” he finally said. His voice was low, gravel-rough, and held the same tone that used to tell me to turn the music down when I was blasting indie rock through the hallway well past my bedtime. “You made good time.”
“Yeah. Traffic wasn’t bad.” I shifted the box in my arms, suddenly aware of how I wasn’t wearing a bra under my thin cotton tee and how my high-rise jeans left nothing to the imagination.
I felt exposed in a way I hadn’t expected.
“Thanks again for letting me crash here.”
He stepped aside, holding the door wider. “Hell, you’re doing me a favor going through all this shit. Besides, it’s your house, too. Always has been.”
I never expected the simple act of coming home to feel like stepping into a memory that was painful. For years, I’d wanted to leave, to be independent. I never expected to… miss this place.
I walked past him into the foyer. The smell hit me first—a mixture of wood polish, faint sawdust that always clung to him no matter how much he showered, and something warmer, earthier, and unmistakably Marcus.
The same narrow entry table stood against the wall with the same framed photo still centered on it… Mom, Marcus, and me at my high school graduation. I was eighteen in the picture, skinny arms and uncertain smile under the cap and gown.
Marcus had his arm slung around my shoulders, his stance casual and protective, but back then, I remembered it feltheavy in a way that made me feel both anchored and strangely unsteady at the same time.
I set the box down and turned. He was still watching me, arms crossed now, biceps flexing under the cotton of his T-shirt. The silence stretched, thick and awkward.
“You look…” He searched for the word. “Different.”
I let out a nervous laugh. “Five years will do that.”
“Guess so.” His gaze flicked down again, slower this time, tracing the line of my slightly sweaty tee where it still clung tight across my chest from the drive, and then back to my face. “Your room’s still yours. I didn’t move or touch anything.”
“Thanks.” I grabbed my duffle before the air could get any heavier and headed for the stairs. My heart was thudding too loudly in my ears. I told myself it was just the weirdness of being back, just the echo of old routines, and that the last time I’d lived here he was still married to my mother.
The hallway upstairs smelled like clean sheets and aged pine. My door was ajar, and I pushed it open. I stood there and looked around.
Nothing had changed.
Lavender walls, a white iron bed with the quilt Mom pieced together when I was twelve and my desk still littered with charcoal stubs and half-finished sketches from senior year.
The corkboard above it held the same faded concert tickets, Polaroids of me and friends I barely talked to anymore, and the dried corsage from prom.
I dropped my bag and sat on the edge of the mattress, letting the stillness press all around and let it all sink in.
