Page 166 of Rescuing Ally: Part 2

“We figure out how to be happy again.” His smile holds hope alongside exhaustion. “How to build something beautiful.”

The future stretches ahead like an unwritten page, full of possibility and promise. We’re not the same people we were, and we will never be the same again.

Maybe this is what healing looks like—not forgetting or forgiving, but choosing to build something beautiful from the ashes of what was destroyed.

FIFTY-THREE

Learning to Live Again

ALLY

The housestill feels different when we walk through the front door—pensive somehow, as if it’s holding its breath.

Gabe stops in the entryway, shoulders rigid with tension that speaks to walking into a museum of memories neither of us is ready to face.

“We could get a hotel,” he says quietly. “Just for tonight. Until we figure out…”

“No.” I take his hand, thread our fingers together. “This is our home. We don’t run from it.”

But standing here surrounded by evidence of a life that included three people, I understand his hesitation. The silence feels wrong—no deep voice calling from the kitchen about dinner plans, no sound of tactical gear being stripped and stored, no presence that filled spaces without trying.

Just emptiness where warmth used to live.

“Come on.” I pull him toward the living room, past the sectional sofa arranged for three bodies that will never again pile together for movie nights. “We’ll figure it out as we go.”

The kitchen holds the most ghosts. Hank’s protein powder still sits beside the blender he used every morning. His vitaminsarranged in precise rows that speak to military precision applied to civilian life. The coffee maker is programmed for 0600 hours, ready to brew for three people who’ve become two.

“I should make dinner,” Gabe says, moving toward the stove.

“Since when do you cook?” I ask, settling onto one of the bar stools.

“Since someone has to.” He opens the refrigerator, stares at the contents without really seeing them. “Can’t live on coffee and takeout forever.”

“Why not?”

He arranges ingredients with movements that lack his usual confidence.

“Hank forbade you from cooking after that grease fire, you know. Sure you want to tackle dinner?”

“Do you know how to cook?”

“No.”

“Didn’t think so. Besides, it was one time, and it was barely a fire. More like enthusiastic splattering.”

“Enthusiastic splattering that set off every smoke alarm in the house and nearly burned down the kitchen. At least, that’s what Hank told me. Said he banned you for life. That the kitchen was a weapon in your hands.”

“You’ll be surprised by how well I can cook.” His mouth curves in a reluctant smile.

“Really?”

“Actually, I’m not half bad. Hank’s cooking was just so much better than mine. I may, or may not, have not so accidentally started that grease fire.”

“Gabe!” I toss a kitchen towel at him. “You manipulated Hank?”

“Worked like a charm.” He doesn’t even try to hide his grin. “Although I did have to take up doing the dishes.”

“I guess that’s my job now.” I gesture to the kitchen. “Show me some of this kitchen magic.”