Just like that.
The glow I’d been carrying with me, the warmth from pancakes and laughter and Alex’s arms, faded, replaced by the familiar weight in my chest.
This was my real life. And it was still cold.
Later that afternoon, Ava was on the driveway with a box of chalk, tongue between her teeth as she drew skulls and flames in bright, messy colors. They were fierce and beautiful, just like her.
The sun was warm but gentle, early June doing that perfect thing where everything felt possible, and nothing hurt too much yet. I sat in a lawn chair, sipping iced tea and watching her, letting myself pretend, just for a minute, that my life was simple.
My phone rang.
“Mel,” flashed across the screen, and I answered so fast I nearly dropped it.
“Hey—”
“Team meeting Tuesday,” Mel said without preamble.
“I’ll be there.”
“And,” she continued, “we’ve got a bout tomorrow in Columbus. You should try to come. Your first one won’t be for two weeks, but it’s good to see how it all works.”
“Yes,” I said immediately. “Yes, I can do that.”
“Becca said she’d be happy to watch Ava,” Mel added. “Leo’s already asking when you’ll be back.”
I laughed, breathless. “Of course he is.”
When I hung up, Ava looked up from her chalk masterpiece. “Why are you smiling like that?”
“I’m going to Columbus to see a bout. Do you want to play with Leo?” I asked, waiting for fireworks, cheers, something big.
She just nodded. “Good,” and went back to drawing a very dramatic flaming skull.
I snorted. You really never knew with Ava.
I texted Alex without even thinking, and he called me immediately.
“Are you free tomorrow?” I asked. “We have a bout in Columbus. I thought maybe we could drive together.”
“Yes,” he said instantly. “Absolutely.”
I hung up, heart light again, staring down the street and, just for a second, imagining what it would be like to live in that empty duplex next to him.
The thought didn’t scare me anymore.
It felt like a door cracking open.
I woke up already moving.
Bags on the bed. Clothes folded. Ava’s overnight things got stacked by the door. I was halfway through making coffee when I heard it. A scream, sharp and raw, cutting through the quiet morning.
I rushed to the front door.
My mother stood on the driveway with a hose, a brutal stream of water washing away the chalk drawings Ava had spent hours on the day before. Skulls. Flames. Bright, messy joy dissolving into colorful streaks.
Ava stood beside her, sobbing. “You can’t! I worked so hard on that! You’re ruining it!”
“March back into the house,” my mother snapped without even turning off the hose. “You’re not going anywhere today if you’re going to behave like this.”
