A jagged shard of ice twisted deep within my chest, anger crashing into fresh hurt.
“That bowl stays there.”
Her smile faltered. “Logan, it was just—”
“That bowl stays there,” I repeated, harder.
Silence fell thick between us.
I walked into the living room. The blanket Elena crocheted—crooked, uneven, unfinished—had been folded, placed over the arm of the chair. It belonged draped across the back, how she left it. The coffee table was clear except for a coaster and the neat stack of mail that sat beside it.
Everything looked… cared for.
And I hated it, resentment surging beneath my skin, even as I knew the care behind it.
“What else did you move?” I asked.
Dani straightened. “Logan—”
“What else,” I said again, my voice rising despite myself, “did you decide needed fixin’?”
Her eyes widened. “I didn’t decide anything. Harper asked—”
“You don’t get to decide what changes in this house,” I snapped.
The words landed heavily.
Her mouth opened, then closed. When she spoke again, her voice was tight with hurt.
“I’m sorry, I wasn’t trying to overstep.”
“Well, you did.”
“That’s not fair,” she said softly.
“Neither is coming home to a house that doesn’t feel like mine anymore.”
She took a step back like I’d struck her, pain flickering across her face, and distance growing instantly.
“I was helping,” she said. “You were gone.”
“That’s not your call.”
She braced herself, eyes showing the hurt that was building beneath the surface. “You asked me to stay. To help. You can’t invite someone in and then punish them for existing.”
“I didn’t ask you to change things.”
“And I didn’t think pulling back a curtain counted as taking over.”
My chest burned. “You don’t get to decide what hurts.”
“And you don’t get to just shut everyone out.”
I turned away, dragging a hand through my hair. “This house is all I have left of her.”
Dani’s voice softened. “I know.”
“You don’t,” I said again, quieter this time. “You haven’t lost someone like that.”
