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Rachel studied the Monopoly board with exaggerated intensity. She let out a very long, drawn out Hmmm . Across the table, Paige waited and watched, shaking her head. Behind her, morning sunlight streamed through the kitchen windows, casting warm squares on the aged wood surface between them.

"Mom, it's just Boardwalk. Either buy it or don't."

"Says the girl who already owns Park Place," Rachel argued. Rachel ran her fingers through her dark hair, pretending to agonize over the decision. In truth, she was savoring every second. Getting Paige to do anything that didn't involve a phone screen these days felt like a minor miracle. When Paige had even suggested they sit down and play a board game on a Saturday morning , Rachel had wondered what, exactly, was wrong with her daughter.

She’d missed this side of Paige and was thankful whenever it decided to resurface.

From the living room came the steady click of laptop keys. Jack hadn't moved from his spot on the couch since he’d plopped down there at 8:30 with his coffee and a bagel, his face illuminated by the screen's blue glow. Even on weekends, his new role at the bureau meant endless reports and administrative duties…and added hours of working from home on the weekends.

Rachel placed her pink five-hundred-dollar bill on the table. She wasn’t going to let the added stresses of Jack’s work get to her. "Sold!" she proclaimed.

"Finally!" Paige rolled her eyes, but a smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. "Now I can bankrupt you on both properties."

"We'll see about that." Rachel gathered the dice, catching a glimpse of her reflection in the window. Even after two years, she sometimes didn't recognize herself—she was somehow back to normal even though the last two years had seemed to have made her age nearly five years. She was catching the occasional gray hair and more often than not, she got far too tired far too quickly.

But she was here, alive, playing board games with her daughter on a Saturday morning. That was something she'd once thought impossible.

"Jack," she called out. "Are you sure you don't want to join us? There's still time to jump in. This game can be a bit of a drag with just two players.”

“Hey!" Paige yelled.

“Oh, you know what I mean,” Rachel said with a wink.

Jack made a noncommittal sound, fingers never pausing on the keyboard. "Maybe later. This report needs to be finished by Monday."

It was always "maybe later" these days. Rachel understood the pressures of his new position—she'd seen how the promotion had changed their lives, trading field work for administrative responsibilities. Still, she missed the days when they'd worked cases together, when they'd been partners in every sense of the word. They were now, too, as husband and wife…right down to their finances. Which is one of the reasons Rachel wasn’t complaining about the position. Not out loud, anyway.

Paige shook the dice in her cupped hands. "Your loss, Jack. I'm totally crushing Mom right now."

"Don't get cocky," Rachel warned, watching as her daughter's roll landed her on one of Rachel's properties. "That'll be two hundred dollars, young lady."

"Highway robbery," Paige grumbled, but she was smiling as she counted out the play money.

There were times when Rachel wondered if Paige might need more therapy. She’d seen a therapist for eight months after everything had settled down—after Grandma Tate’s funeral and after the cancer had finally been beaten. But these days, now in middle school and with a whole new group of friends, Paige seemed almost bi-polar at times. Moody and in a foul mood one day and the perfect little angel the next—like today.

Rachel's phone buzzed from the end of the table. She leaned over and looked at it, seeing SCARLETT on the caller display. Scarlett, one of her favorite hospice patients…who had also just happened to receive amazing news a few weeks ago. News that her cancer was in remission and that the experimental treatments she’d been trying out had worked.

Rachel was excited to hear from her. Scarlett had moved out of hospice and back to her house earlier in the week. But Rachel hesitated before answering, watching Paige's expression shift ever so slightly.

“Do you mind, kiddo?” she asked. “It’s Scarlett.”

“Oh! Sure.” Paige and Jack had heard all about Scarlett from the stories she’d often bring home from the hospice center.

Rachel grabbed the phone and answered it on the third ring. “Hey, Scar. How’s it going?”

“Rachel!” The voice on the other end was breathless with excitement. "I’m officially moved in…sort of.”

“Sort of?”

“Well, these unpacked boxes staring me in the face might disagree.”

“And how are you feeling?”

“Oh, I feel great! Really wonderful. And now that I am mostly moved in, I was wondering if you’d come over. I’ll be honest…it’s been a while since it’s just been…well, just me.”

Rachel glanced at the Monopoly board, then at Paige, who was already reaching for her own phone. To her credit, she still had her play money in her hand, too. "Of course,” Rachel said. “Text me your address."

“I will. And thanks, Rachel. You've been such a blessing through all of this. So it only made sense that you’d be the first person I invited over."

“It was my pleasure. I’ll see you soon.”

Rachel hung up and turned to Paige with a guilty look on her face. "Paige, honey, I'm so sorry, but—"

"It's fine, Mom." Paige was already deep in a text conversation, thumbs flying across the screen. "We can finish later. I mean, I heard. It’s really awesome that she’s in her own house now. So, she’s like… cured right? Like you?"

Rachel smiled. “Seems that way.”

“Then yeah. Go hang out with her. She’s your friend.”

The speed with which her daughter disengaged stung, but Rachel tried not to show it. Besides, even in that disengagement, her heart was showing. She was, after all, insisting that her mother continue to connect with her once-sick friend. She remembered being twelve, how the world seemed to exist primarily in the space between friends and jokes. Still, she missed the little girl who used to beg for "just one more" board game or bedtime story, the little girl who didn't have a phone permanently attached to her hand.

Rachel stood, gathering her keys and bag. She crossed to the living room and approached the couch, where she leaned down to kiss Jack's cheek. "Scarlett asked me to come over," she said. "I won't be long, though. Just long enough to see the place, say hi…just be polite, you know?"

He mumbled something that might have been "bye" without looking up from his laptop. Two years into their marriage, and sometimes she still felt like she was competing with his inbox for attention.

At the door, Rachel paused. Through the archway, she could see her family—Jack lost in his work, Paige absorbed in her phone, the abandoned Monopoly board between them. A familiar ache bloomed in her chest. This wasn't how she'd imagined their Saturday morning ending. And she was becoming more and more aware that there would be precious few of this sort of Saturday mornings in her future. Paige was going to grow out of it before she knew it.

But then she remembered the dark days of her own cancer battle, when she'd thought she'd never see another family moment, perfect or imperfect. The memory of hospital rooms, of researching treatments and specialists—it all rushed back in a wave that made her grip the doorknob tighter.

She had this. She had them. However distracted or distant they might sometimes be, they were here. And after everything they'd been through, that was no small thing.

The morning sun caught the silver band on her left hand as she reached for her car keys. Her wedding ring to Jack—different from the one Peter had given her, but no less meaningful. A symbol of second chances, of life continuing even after you think it's over.

Rachel stepped out into the crisp morning air, letting the door click shut behind her. She had a miracle to celebrate with Scarlett, and maybe later, if she was lucky, there'd be time to finish that game of Monopoly. Though something told her that by the time she got home, the board would be packed away, the moment lost to the steady march of weekend routines and digital distractions.

Still, she'd keep trying. Keep showing up. Keep believing in the power of small moments and second chances. After all, she was living proof that sometimes the things you think you've lost can find their way back to you—different, perhaps, but no less precious for the change.