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I always found a reason not to.

Henrietta never pressured me either. She would pick my son up, bring him back with more toys than he left with, and leave whatever happened at that house between the two of them. Driving past Caspian’s old businesses or restaurants was one thing. Walking through the gates of the home he had built with our future in mind was something else entirely.

That place held too much of the life we were supposed to have, so I stayed away.

“Can we stop? Just real quick?” he urged.

“No, baby.”

“Why?”

“Because we need to get to Granny’s before the weather turns bad.”

“But we’re close to it right now,” he argued, pointing toward the upcoming split in the highway. “I see the exit Grandma takes. We got plenty of time.”

I gripped the wheel tighter, frowning at the road. Caspian’s stubborn, relentless DNA was screaming through our child.

“No, Kaidence.”

He fell silent, leaning back into his seat. I should have taken the silence as a victory, but thirty seconds later, he asked softly, “Have you ever been there, Mommy?”

A humorless laugh nearly escaped my throat. Baby, I practically designed the layout with him.

“A long time ago,” I replied.

“Why don’t you ever go now, with me and Grandma?”

Because if I walked through those front doors and found nothing but empty rooms and dust, the fragile reality I had built over six years might completely shatter.

“I just haven’t had a reason to,” I answered instead.

Kaidence stared at me through the glass.

Children always know when an adult is lying; they just don’t have the words to prove it.

“Please?” he asked, his voice small. “Just drive past it. We don’t even gotta get out.”

I should have stayed on the main route. I should have kept my eyes straight ahead and driven straight to the house. Instead, when the exit ramp appeared on the right, my hands guided the steering wheel across the lane before my mind could talk me out of it.

My muscle memory knew the turns before the GPS could recalculate.

Right at the bottom of the ramp.

Straight through two traffic lights.

A left after the weathered brick gas station, and a sharp right winding past the gated subdivisions Caspian used to complain were crowding his side of town.

With every block, the knot in my chest pulled tighter.

Above us, the sky had bruised into a deep, stormy charcoal. Thick gray clouds swallowed the remainder of the afternoon light, heavy with the promise of a downpour.

Kaidence perked up instantly, recognizing the scenery. “We’re close!”

“Calm down and stay buckled,” I warned, my heart beginning to thud against my ribs.

“Daddy’s house has the giant black gates,” he chattered, his small fingers tapping against the window. “Grandma said Daddy built the whole thing.”

“He did, baby.”