The car stopped.
I stared at the house through the windshield. My hands wouldn’t stop shaking.
"We’re here," Damien said quietly.
Here. Ho.
Except it wasn’t my ho anymore. Hadn’t been for three years.
The house looked exactly the sa. Sa stone facade. Sa dark wood door. Sa perfectly manicured lawn.
Like I’d never left.
Like three years hadn’t passed.
"Sera." Damien’s voice pulled back. "You ready?"
No. God, no. I wasn’t ready. Would never be ready.
But I nodded anyway.
He got out first. Walked around to my side. Opened the door like we were on so normal date. Like this was fine. Like everything was fine.
I forced my legs to move. One foot on the ground. Then the other. Standing felt like climbing a mountain.
Damien pulled out his keys. The sound of tal against tal seed impossibly loud. Each click of the lock echoed through my skull.
The door swung open.
And I stepped inside.
Oh God.
The entryway looked the sa. Sa marble floors. Sa chandelier. Sa table where we used to drop our keys.
There were toys scattered near the stairs. Bright plastic things that definitely weren’t there three years ago. A small pink backpack hung on a hook that used to hold my jacket. Tiny shoes lined up neatly by the doorâ€"so with sparkles, so with dinosaurs.
My children’s shoes.
Child I’d never watched grow. Never seen take her first steps.
My throat closed up.
"The living room," Damien said. "We can wait there."
I followed him like a ghost. Through the hallway I’d walked down a thousand tis. Past the kitchen where I used to make coffee every morning. Into the living room whereâ€"
I stopped dead.
The couch was the sa. Sa dark leather. Sa throw pillows.
But the coffee table was covered in coloring books. Crayons everywhere. A half-finished puzzle showing so cartoon character I didn’t recognize.
On the wall, new picture fras. Dozens of them.
Adrian’s school photos. Year by year. Watching him grow from five to eight. And Lily. Baby pictures. First birthday. Second birthday. Third birthday. This tiny person I’d carried inside . This little girl who’d been barely six months old when I left.
I couldn’t look away. Couldn’t stop staring at these snapshots of lives I’d missed. Monts I’d never get back.
"Sit down," Damien said.
I sank onto the couch. My legs gave out. If I’d tried to stand another second, I would’ve collapsed.
Damien checked his watch. "They’ll be here soon. The nanny picks them up from school on Fridays."
I looked around the room again. Trying to morize everything. Trying to understand what their lives had been like without .
A toy box in the corner overflowing with stuffed animals. A bookshelf filled with picture books and early readers. A small table with two chairs where they probably did crafts or howork.
All without .
"I kept your things," Damien said suddenly.
I looked at him. He was standing by the fireplace. Not looking at . Staring at the photos on the mantel.
"What?"
"Your things. Your clothes. Your books. That stupid mug you loved." His voice was flat. Empty. "I couldn’t throw them away."
I didn’t know what to say to that. Didn’t know if there was anything to say.
"Adrian used to sleep with one of your sweaters," he continued. "For the first year. He’d cry himself to sleep holding it. Breathing in your scent until it faded."
The words were knives. Each one cutting deeper.
"I had to take it away eventually. It was making things worse." He finally looked at . His eyes were empty. "He was seven years old and he couldn’t let go of a piece of clothing because it was all he had left of his mother."
"And Lily." His voice cracked. "Lily doesn’t rember you at all. She sees pictures and I tell her stories, but to her, you’re just... a character. Like a princess in a book. Not real."
Tears burned behind my eyes. I blinked them back furiously. If I started crying now, I wouldn’t stop.
"So yeah." Damien turned back to the fireplace. "I kept your things. Because throwing them away felt like admitting you were never coming back. Like giving up."
Silence fell between us. Heavy. Suffocating.
Ti crawled. Each minute felt like an hour.
I sat on the couch. Hands clasped in my lap to hide the shaking. Eyes fixed on the door. Waiting.
My mind raced through every possible scenario.
Outside, I heard a car door slam.
My entire body went rigid.
"That’s them," Damien said unnecessarily.
I stood up. Sat back down. Stood up again. I didn’t know what to do with my hands. With my body. With any part of myself.
Voices outside. High and young and achingly familiar even though I hadn’t heard them in years.
The door opened.
I stopped breathing.
Footsteps in the hallway. Small feet running. A woman’s voice calling after them to slow down.
My heart hamred so hard I thought it might break through my ribs.
Then she appeared.
Lily.
She burst into the room like a tiny hurricane. Dark hair in pigtails. One shoe untied. Her backpack sliding off one shoulder.
She was so big.
So much bigger than the six-month-old baby I’d left behind. When had she gotten so big?
She skidded to a stop when she saw . Her mouth ford a perfect O of surprise.
We stared at each other.
This was it. The mont I’d been dreading and desperately wanting for three years.
My daughter. My baby girl. Looking at like I was a stranger.
Then her face changed.
Her eyes went wide. Impossibly wide. Recognition flashing across her features.
"Daddy!" She spun toward Damien. Her voice was so loud. So excited. "Daddy, Daddy, DADDY!"
She grabbed his leg. Bouncing. Practically vibrating with energy.
"This is her!" Lily pointed at . Her whole arm extended. "This is the person you wanted us to et!"
My throat closed up completely.
"This is the mama I saw!" Lily’s voice got even louder. Even more excited. "This is the lady from the bakery! The one with forest eyes! The one I told you about!"
She looked between Damien and . Her face glowing. Like Christmas morning and birthdays and every happy mont combined.
"I told you!" She grabbed Damien’s hand. Shook it. "I told you I found her! I told you it was really her! This is the mama from the bakery store!"
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