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“Seeing your clothes actually in the dresser.”

I paused with my hand resting on the smooth cotton.

Willow’s expression softened, losing the sharp, teasing edge she usually wore like armor.

“Every time you came back before, you lived straight out of that damn rolling suitcase. Kept everything zipped up, kept your keys right by your purse on the nightstand, like somebody had a countdown clock ticking over your head.”

A lump formed in my throat. I looked down at the drawer, running my fingers along the cedar lining.

She was right.

For five years, every visit had been an exercise in emotional survival. I had kept one foot out the door, terrified that if I unpacked, the grief of what I’d lost with Caspian would swallow me whole.

“It’s nice,” Willow added, her voice dropping into something quiet and vulnerable. “Knowing you’re actually here. That I don't have to watch you pack up on Sunday night.”

I turned to face her.

The twenty-eight-year-old woman in front of me was still the little girl who used to crawl into my twin bed whenever the thunder got too loud after our mom died.

“I’m here, Willow,” I said softly. “I’m not going anywhere.”

For a second, the emotion hung thick and heavy in the room between us.

Willow’s eyes glistened with unshed tears, and a rare, genuine smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. Then she blinked, her attention darting past my shoulder toward the open suitcase on the bed.

Her eyes locked onto the buttery, taupe leather designer tote bag Yonas had given me for my last birthday.

In less than a second, every ounce of sentiment vanished from her face.

“So,” Willow said, stepping into the room and immediately picking the bag up by its handles, testing the weight in her palm. “Since you’re staying permanently and we share household resources… can I borrow this for my date on Friday?”

I stared at her, caught completely between a laugh and a groan. “You just had to ruin the moment, didn't you?”

Willow slung the strap over her shoulder, admiring herself in the dresser mirror. “Emotional bonding is great, Lakelyn, but this leather is Italian.”

I couldn’t help the laugh that broke out of my chest, cutting straight through the heavy knot of grief and memory that had been sitting behind my ribs all afternoon.

“You are ridiculous,” I said, shaking my head as she posed in front of the mirror, adjusting the strap over her shoulder like she was walking a runway in Milan rather than standing in our childhood bedroom with one house shoe on.

“I am resourceful,” Willow corrected smoothly, giving her reflection a dramatic wink. “Big difference. Now, are you giving me permission, or am I going to have to borrow it with love and forgiveness later?”

“Take the damn bag,” I said, waving a hand at her. “Just keep your sticky lip gloss away from the lining.”

“Deal.” She beamed, setting the bag carefully on top of the dresser like it was crown jewels before giving me another quick look. “Get some rest, nurse. You look like you’ve been running a twelve-hour shift on five hours of sleep.”

“I’ve been driving across state lines with a five-year-old. It’s worse.”

Willow laughed and slipped out into the hall, her single slipper slapping against the hardwood floor.

Later that night, the house finally settled into a quiet hum.

I carried a stack of Ninja Turtles pajamas down the hall to tuck Kaidence into bed.

The house was a solid four-bedroom craftsman with creaky floorboards, warm wood trim, and the kind of lived-in charm that made every room feel familiar even after time away.

For years, the front corner bedroom had been Granny’s sewing sanctuary, packed with fabric bolts, old patterns, plastic bins of thread, and an ancient Singer sewing machine that sounded like a diesel engine every time she turned it on. The minute she found out Kaidence and I were moving back for good, though, she had the room cleared out and repurposed for him. I tried telling her she didn’t have to go through all that trouble and that he could sleep in my room until we got settled, but Granny shut that down immediately.

According to her, a growing five-year-old boy needed his own space, and judging by the mountain of action figures, building blocks, toy cars, and monster trucks already taking over the floor, she had probably been right.