I'm in complete control of this situation.
I'm not thinking about hazel eyes or the way she smiled at Riley, or the fact that when she laughed, something in my chest loosened that's been tight for three years. Not thinking about any of it.
The water shuts off, and a door closes.
I close my eyes and try to sleep.
It takes a long time.
Chapter 5 - Morgan
I wake up to the sound of tiny feet thundering past my door and a high-pitched voice declaring, "I'M LATE! DADDY, I'M SO LATE!"
For a confused moment, I have no idea where I am. The bed is too soft, the room too dark, and there's definitely not supposed to be a child having a meltdown outside my door.
Then it comes back: Blackwater Falls. Broken car. Casey's house.
I grab my phone from the nightstand. 6:04 AM.
Six in the morning, and Riley is convinced she's late for pre-K.
"Riley, you're not late," Casey's voice filters through the door, calm but strained. "We have forty-five minutes before we need to leave. And keep your voice down, Morgan's still sleeping."
"But I can't find my purple shirt!"
"Because it's in the laundry. Wear the blue one."
"But it's PURPLE DAY!"
"Since when is it purple day?"
"Since I DECIDED!"
I should feel bad about being awake. I should probably put a pillow over my head and try to go back to sleep like a normal person who isn't used to living in a car where every sound echoes.
Instead, I find myself smiling.
This is what normal families sound like in the morning. The chaos, the negotiations over shirt colors, the gentle exasperation in Casey's voice as he tries to manage a tiny tornado with opinions.
Annie and I never had this. We were both quiet kids, the kind who got ourselves ready for school without being asked and ate breakfast in companionable silence while our parents read the paper.
But we'd talked about it sometimes. About how our future families would be different. Louder. Fuller.
*I want chaos,* Annie had said once. *I want kids who fight over the bathroom and leave their shoes everywhere and make me crazy. I want the mess.*
I blink hard and stare at the ceiling until the urge to cry passes.
More footsteps in the hallway. Riley's voice, slightly quieter now: "What if Morgan wants breakfast?"
"Then she'll come down when she's ready," Casey says. "Now go brush your teeth. And quietly."
"This IS quietly!"
I hear Casey sigh, and I decide to put him out of his misery.
I swing my legs out of bed, grab the hoodie I packed, oversized and comfortable, my traveling uniform, and pull it on over my tank top and sleep shorts before opening the door.
Riley freezes mid-sprint toward what I'm guessing is the bathroom, her eyes going wide.
