“Wait.”
He looks up. “Why?”
“Because we check first.”
He frowns but stays.
I look through the curtain. It’s her truck. Her hands on the wheel. Her face. Alone.
Thank God.
I open the door.
August tears out like a small, loud cannon.
Amelia barely gets her door open before he hits her. She laughs and catches him, grocery bag in one hand, keys in the other. The sound of that laugh makes something inside me unclench so hard it almost hurts.
She came back.
Not because she had to.
Because she chose to.
I step onto the porch and lean against the post like I have been casual this whole time.
She looks up.
Her eyes find mine over August’s head.
There it is.
She knows.
“You didn’t follow me,” she says.
“Told you I wouldn’t.”
“You wanted to.”
“Real bad.”
“But you didn’t.”
“No.”
Her face changes.
Soft.
Proud.
Maybe a little sad, because progress only matters when everyone knows what it cost.
“Thank you,” she says.
I shrug. “Don’t get used to my personal growth. It makes me itchy.”
She smiles and looks down before it turns into something else.