Their living room was a chaos carnival in the best way possible, the remains of a blanket fort collapsed in the corner, pillows everywhere, popcorn on the rug, and a movie still paused on the TV.
Leo was fast asleep on the couch, curled under a rainbow fleece blanket, mouth slightly open. Ava sat beside him, headphones on, completely absorbed in her tablet. The tip of her tongue stuck out in concentration.
My heart softened automatically.
Becca came out of the kitchen, drying her hands on a dish towel. “Hey! They had such a great night,” she said with a warm smile. “They’re already planning the second one.”
Right on cue, Ava registered my presence. She glanced up, pushing her headphones off one ear.
“Hi, baby,” I said softly.
“Let’s go,” she replied simply, sliding off the couch without ceremony. Classic Ava. But she turned to her and said with that rare earnest clarity, “Thank you. I had a good time.”
Mel’s face lit up like a lantern. “Anytime, kiddo.”
“Drive safe,” Becca said to me, her voice soft in the dim light. “Text me if you need anything.”
“Thank you,” I murmured. “For everything.”
“You’re family now,” Mel called from the doorway. “You can’t escape us!”
I managed a laugh. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
Ava slipped her hand into mine, her grounding pressure, small and firm, and we walked to the car together.
The minute the doors shut, silence wrapped around us.
A gentle, heavy, complicated silence.
Ava leaned her head against the window, already sliding into whatever thought-world she lived in at night.
And I . . . I just drove.
The streetlights passed through the windshield in slow, golden streaks, soft and blurred, and my chest felt too full with everything unspoken. The taste of Alex’s kiss, the warmth of his touch, the guilt and longing battling in my ribs, all of it dulled by one thing, the sharp ache of missing Ethan.
The quiet, startling realization that I wanted more with Alex, even though it scared me.
Ava didn’t notice any of it.
She simply said, “Leo has cool pajamas.”
And somehow, that small, innocent sentence made my throat tighten.
“Yeah,” I said, voice soft. “He does.”
The rest of the drive was quiet.
But it wasn’t empty.
It was full.
Full of everything that had happened . . . everything I couldn’t name yet . . .
and everything I wasn’t sure how to feel.
I had just slipped into my pajamas, wiping away mascara smudges in the bathroom mirror, when I heard it. There was soft, hesitantknockon my bedroom door.
My heart stuttered. “Come in, sweet girl.”
