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Kiera cleared the table while her parents shifted into small talk. Her dad launched into a summary of a documentary on sustainable farming he’d watched the night before—something about vertical gardens and aquaponics. Her mom nodded along, skeptical but patient.

It was all normal. All familiar.

Still, Kiera felt miles away from herself.

In the living room, Eliza and Quinn were mid-construction, balancing throw pillows between dining chairs, the couch, andan ottoman that had already been commandeered as a throne. Kiera leaned in to help, draping a blanket higher than Eliza could reach.

They beamed at her like she'd built it single-handedly.

There were moments, like this one, where the noise in her head softened. Where their laughter filled up the room enough to drown out the rest. They were okay. That was something.

Resilient in a way only children could be, Kiera thought. They took each change in stride — new house, new school, new rules — and somehow still found ways to delight in it. She envied that ease. That capacity for bounce-back. Hers had long since eroded.

Eliza knelt beside her, folding another blanket with serious concentration. The same curve to her brow, the same clipped way she pressed her mouth when she focused — it was like looking at a younger version of herself. Quinn, on the other hand, was all chaos and stubborn joy, more like her father than Kiera liked to admit.

Kiera sat back on her heels, watching them.

The divorce hadn’t been contentious. That, in its own way, had been worse. Alex had stayed in Omaha, entirely fine with Kiera taking the girls to Denver. He hadn’t fought her on custody, hadn’t fought her on much of anything. He’d agreed to split the house sale evenly and start over with his new life, his new girlfriend, his version of a clean slate.

Kiera had walked away with the girls and not an ounce of regret.

Sometimes she thought that should’ve felt like a win. Other times it just felt like abandonment.

She’d refused alimony. Aunt Jade had offered to help, of course — had paid for the legal side of it all without blinking — but Kiera hadn’t let her pay for anything beyond that. She couldn’t. Not even when Aunt Jade had dangled the promise of a down payment.

Without a steady job, signing a lease or taking on a mortgage felt reckless. So she’d stayed. Her childhood home turned into something temporary but indefinite, her parents reminding her daily, in small ways, that she was welcome, that she had time.

In return, she cooked. Cleaned. Folded everyone’s laundry while the girls were at school or when she wasn’t picking up a sub shift. She made it work. Or tried to.

Her phone buzzed from the coffee table.

A message from Maggie.

Maggie

Hey! What time do you get in on Friday? Can’t wait to see you!

Kiera picked it up slowly, thumb hovering. The trip had sounded like a good idea when it was just an idea. A beach house in San Diego. Ocean air. Her old college friends, Maggie, Danica, Pete, and Izzy. Her parents had practically forced her to go, promising they’d manage everything here. That it would be good for her.

Now it felt less like a vacation and more like a performance.

Kiera

Hey. I get in around 2 p.m. Can’t wait to see you, too.

It wasn’t a lie. But it also wasn’t the full truth.

Another buzz.

Danica

Hey, I wanted to check in before the trip. You’re coming right?

Kiera’s stomach tightened. She hadn’t expected to feel nervous about hearing from Danica, but there it was, the familiar worry and shame.

They used to talk every day. Now, messages like this carried the careful tone of people still holding one another at arm’s length.