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Dr. Macmillan continued, “I don’t want to give you unfair hope. But the likelihood of your memories resurfacing is at least higher than it was before. I’d like to see you again next month, and we’ll establish a new baseline for your imaging.”

The breath left Molly’s lungs, hoping anyway, whether unfair or not. She would be fine without her memories of the last six years; she’d made peace with that loss. But she wouldn’t refuse a miracle if it happened upon her. It felt like kindling behind her sternum, warm potential gliding through her veins.

Hours later, when finally released from the hospital, Molly collapsed onto a sofa at Eli’s house, wrapped in Aster’s arms.

“Have you heard from Roy?” she asked, voice barely above a whisper as Aster pulled her back against his chest, nuzzling into her braid. His breath coasted across the back of her neck.

“Nothing yet,” Aster said. He lifted a hand to pull her hair off the side of her neck, exposing skin he could explore. “But I guess I can’t keep pretending to dislike him if he’s helping us secure a new place to live.” He pressed a kiss just behind her ear.

“I regret to inform you that you’ve done a terrible job pretending to dislike him, if that’s what you think you’ve been doing.”

“Shhh. Let me have my delusions.”

Molly’s eyes closed, surrendering to his touch. It was nice not being in a hospital bed, constantly checked in on and asked questions. It was nicer to be in Aster’s arms, a shield in some ways, from the strange grief still bouncing between her head and her heart.

Grief for who she’d thought she was, for her future and her past and her memories. For her own hope. For Aster’s. And now, grief for a room—a nursery—and the potential it might have held. She leaned into Aster. Whatever navigating this new grief would look like, defined by the heartbreaking distinction of knowing but not remembering, she would have his support. And that felt like enough, at least for now, to feel safe, to feel at home, even when their home had been destroyed.

Aster’s hands traced urgent paths across her skin, and it felt like he was indulging in the same kind of comfort. She arched against him as one of his hands slipped beneath the hem of her shirt. His mouth found the side of her neck again, his other hand steadily approaching the waistband of her pants.

“In my own home,” came Eli’s voice: shocked and appalled.

Molly leaped from the sofa, straightening her shirt. Aster’s wandering hands had left her distinctly disheveled.

“I literally walked in on you and Bentley in the dining room yesterday. The dining room,” Aster said.

“Dessert involved whipped cream. It was a sign from the stars or something.”

Molly ignored the boys’ banter and crashed into Eli, wrapping her arms around him with all her strength. He seemed startled, unsure of what to do with his hands as he tensed. She didn’t relent.

“You saved my cat,” she said.

Eli pulled back at her words and began pacing. Behind her, Aster slipped quietly from the room to give them space.

Eli turned to her, and as he met her gaze, his entire demeanor collapsed.

“Bentley did. I was a glorified errand boy,” he said, sounding furious. “I am so fucking sorry, Molly.” His voice scraped over every letter in her name. “You asked for help with that room. And we talked about the smell in your apartment so many times. And it wasn’t even the dumpsters . . . you could have died. I should have just picked the lock to that room, and I should have made more calls, and then maybe—”

“Eli, that’s completely irrational. You couldn’t have known. Instead, Pawntès is safe, and you’ve given us a place to stay.” It was Molly’s turn for her voice to catch.

“No, no. You can’t be upset. I’m the one who’s upset,” Eli lamented. “I tried turning myself in, and do you know what the police did? They turned me away! Apparently, my negligible stake in the property management company didn’t warrant culpability—don’t laugh at me. This is serious. They escorted me off the premises!”

Molly rolled her lips between her teeth, caught in the treacherous midpoint between laughter and tears. “How can I convince you you’re being totally ridiculous and have no fault in this?”

Eli considered her question, bouncing his fist against the top of an armchair, before finally letting out a shaky laugh. “I suppose you could name your firstborn after me.”

His quip hit with an echo of grief, a memory Molly should have had but didn’t. He walked around to the front of the chair, dropping into it with the practiced flounce Molly had grown so fond of. She sank onto the adjacent sofa, tucking her legs beneath her. Eli still looked like a stiff breeze might send him tumbling, but she saw the effort to pull himself together.

“But what about the Bishop tradition of using the single most absurd name possible?” Molly asked, trying to guide them both into something resembling their norm.

“Thinking about astronomical baby names, are you?”

Molly shrugged. “Maybe. There are worse Bishop traditions to keep. It’s rather benign, all things considered.”

“Aster is a dumb name, and you know it,” Eli added. “Cosmically dumb, one might say.”

Molly chucked a decorative pillow at him but felt herself grinning. “You know, asters are also very pretty flowers.”

Eli snorted. “You and I both know that Orion Bishop didn’t name his only son after a flower. A constellation begets a star, or something weird like that.”