After dinner, I help Mom with the dishes like I used to when I still lived here. We don’t say much over the clink of plates, the swish of water, and her quiet hum as she dries. There’s comfort in the rhythm, in the soft warmth of her presence beside me.
When we’re done, she hands me a towel to dry my hands and gives me a long look. “A good plan’s important, baby,” she says. “But don’t forget to leave room for grace.”
I nod, throat tight. I hear what she’s saying, I do. But Mom and Dad don’t see how the way we lived, the stress of barely scraping by, settled into me. I know I overcorrect now, hold things a little too tight. Still, I don’t want to live like that again. Maybe there’s a middle ground I haven’t figured out yet.
She kisses my forehead. “You’ve always known how to hold the line. Don’t forget you can draw a new one too, if you need to.”
Back in the living room, Dad’s still glued to the game show, but when he sees me lingering by my old bedroom door, he mutes the TV and stands up.
“Sweetheart,” he says, walking over to wrap me in a hug. “You’ve got a mind like a steel trap and a work ethic to match. You could build the damn moon if you wanted to. Don’t put your dreams on hold just because someone else lost sight of them.”
Something clicks at his statement. A pulse flares in my chest. Could be anger, maybe, but also energy. Direction.
I nod slowly. “Thanks, Dad.”
That night, I lay awake in my childhood bed, staring at the ceiling fan spinning slow circles overhead. I don’t have to wait for Sam. I don’t have to ask permission to keep going with our dream.
The next morning, I’m up before the sun.
I pack quietly, trying not to wake them, but Dad must’ve heard the coffee maker. He shuffles into the kitchen. His hair is messy, and his feet are bare. He holds out a truck stop travel mug, not saying a word.
“Thanks,” I whisper.
He winks. “Call when you get back.”
“I will.”
As I step into the crisp morning air, I open my phone,my fingers already moving. I take a breath. This isn’t about Sam. This isn’t about revenge. This is about me.
I press the voice command button. “Hey, Siri, call Tiny Dream Builders.”
The phone starts to ring. And just like that, I’m building my future.
6
BECCA
Iget to work with two minutes to spare. The two-hour drive from Sweet Hill this morning was worth the stress of cutting it close. Going home feels special. No fancy self-care night can match it. A reset, wrapped in polyester floral curtains and grilled cheese.
I drop my purse on my desk and wave to Olga. She’s our no-nonsense office manager—silver hair pulled back so tight it looks painful and reading glasses always perched at the end of her nose, as if she's always mid-review of something you did wrong. She runs this place like a Swiss watch, with even more precision. She gives me a curt nod. It’s her version of a hug, or so I tell myself.
As my computer boots up, my phone dings.
For a second, my heart jumps, Sam? But no, it’s my daily horoscope text, courtesy of Nessa, who signed us all up during one of our Zentrology nights.
Capricorn
Today is the day to tackle that unpleasant to-do list. Your precious routines? They’re due for a shake-up. Don’t worry, once you handle business, reward yourself.
I roll my eyes. Then I read it again. Routines shaken? Check.
By lunchtime, I’ve already cleared my inbox and led two virtual client meetings. I didn’t pack anything this morning for lunch, so I walk to the café down the block. I order a salad piled high even though I’m eyeing the deluxe pizza. I tack on a cookie; balance.
As I eat, I check my "guilt-free" account balance. This account gets five percent of my paycheck and cash from side gigs, like catering. Any paychecks I get go into our joint savings, but cash tips go into my personal account. Sam always said that money was mine to spend.
“You work hard,” he’d said. “Don’t forget to enjoy the fruits.” Funny, coming from the guy who plucked our entire savings from the tree and handed it to his sister.
Current balance:$5,347.
