“That sounds like her,” I agreed, going off what Noah shared about her.
He shrugged, accepting it without sadness, the way kids sometimes did when grief has softened into something livable. Then he perked up again, like the thought had passed through him instead of settling. “Can I help at the store today?”
“You always help at the store,” I said, pouring milk into his cereal. “You’re basically management.”
He grinned proudly, spoon clanking too loudly against the bowl. Sassy barked once, like she agreed, and I laughed despite myself.
We moved through the rest of the morning slowly. Pajamas turned into clothes. Hair was brushed. Shoes were found. Miles insisted on bringing his coloring book “just in case,” and I didn’t argue. I packed snacks, checked my phone, and ignored the buzzing anxiety under my ribs because today was supposed to be good.
The shop greeted us with light and noise the moment we unlocked the door. Machines hummed softly, the air already warm from motion and purpose. One of the temporary helpers waved from the back, coffee in one hand, clipboard in the other, and Daniel popped his head up from behind a rack of finished jackets like a proud gremlin.
“There she is,” he announced. “The boss is here!”
I rolled my eyes, but my chest swelled anyway. Miles darted toward the table near the window, immediately spreading out his crayons like he owned the place. Sassy curled up beneath it with a satisfied huff, claiming her spot for the day.
“Daniel, you need to get back to school.” I checked the list I left yesterday, so I’d know exactly where to start. “You’ve been here a week.”
“Yeah, and I’m not behind at all. It’s basically all online. This is way more fun and practical experience then sitting through a stupid ass lecture.” He rolled his eyes. “I want to go into business or something. Not… anyway, we can chat about that later. We have a lot to do if we’re gonna pause to put the game on. Oh, Noah sent me money to buy a TV for here. Gonna arrive in an hour and we can watch the game!”
Of course, Noah had done that. I laughed as my phone buzzed. My heart skipped a beat, hoping it was Noah with a goofy voice memo, but it wasn’t. It was my mom.
Mom:Your brother showed us pictures of the shop. It looks incredible. We’re so proud of you. Dad wants to come see it if that’s okay.
I stared at the screen longer than necessary, the warmth in my chest blooming instead of tightening. Proud wasn’t a word I associated with my parents anymore—not about my choices. I read the message again to be sure it didn’t say something else.
They wanted to visit. I typed back slowly.
Me:Thanks, Mom. It’s been a lot but really good. Let me know when you’re thinking and we can plan a time.
I slid my phone back into my pocket and took a breath, letting the moment be what it was without dissecting it. This week had taught me something important about myself: joy didn’t need to be interrogated to be valid. I could… have it.
Work took over after that.
Hands moved. Machines hummed. Daniel barked instructions like a benevolent dictator, checking orders off the list and handing finished pieces to the temp help for quality control. The last racks filled steadily, jackets lined up in neat rows like proof I hadn’t imagined any of this.
By noon, we were down to the final dozen.
I stood at my station, sewing the last name patch into place, my movements slower now—not because I was tired, but because I wanted to savor it. The light hit the fabric just right, the thread catching for a second before settling. I trimmed the excess and leaned back, exhaling.
“We’re really doing this,” I murmured.
Daniel looked up from his clipboard. “You did this,” he corrected. “We showed up.”
I smiled at him, my heart full in a way that felt dangerously close to peace. “Dan Dan, this couldn’t have happened without you. You were… crucial.”
He rolled his eyes. “I’m only logistics.”
“Sure, but none of this would’ve happened without you. Ihope you know that. You’re my lieutenant. We should really talk about this. You could partner with me, if you wanted to of course.”
His eyes widened in surprise, right when the bell over the door chimed.
I didn’t look up right away. People had been stopping by all week—neighbors curious about the noise, people who’d seen the posts online and wanted to peek inside. I wiped my hands on a cloth and turned toward the front, already wearing a smile that had become muscle memory.
It fell off my face before I could stop it. Noah’s parents stood inside the doorway.
The air in my lungs stalled, like my body had forgotten the order of things. Inhale. Exhale. My throat tightened so abruptly it felt physical, like a hand had closed around it. Why were they here? Why now? The question looped uselessly as my pulse began to pound, heavy and deliberate, each beat echoing behind my eyes.
They didn’t look angry. They didn’t look frantic. They looked composed.
