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ABOUT FORTY MINUTES AFTER LEAVING BITTERSHARP, I come to a stop behind the cabin. The new cabin. This one comes complete with one less bedroom than it started with, a root cellar, a slightly bigger kitchen without a refrigerator, and a luxurious outhouse!

I traded the solar panels on the roof to Bittersharp so they could use them. And in exchange I got some nice additional raised beds to plant in, which are slowly sprouting up.

After rebuilding the walls and roof of the cabin, they helped dig the well, since the components that supplied running water to the house were no longer getting electricity.

Now it’s all done. Different from before, but still good. A little like my left arm, I guess. But it’s still Jamie’s home. Our home, whenever he gets here. Honestly, I don’t know when that will turn to denial—sometimes I do try to convince myself I’m just in denial that the love of my life is dead and the sooner I get over that, the sooner I can heal.

But I know it’s not true.

I can feel it in my gut almost as much as I can feel the rain coming in my leg and the random shock of nerve pain in my scarred arm. Those two traumatized extremities constantly at odds with the comforting buzz in my chest that tells me he’s coming. He’ll be here soon.

Grabbing one of my bags from the wagon attached to the ATV, I head around the front again. I set the bag on the stone walkway and take out the gnome from inside.

“Welcome home, Holly.” I place her on the ground next to the stairs before going back into the bag. I put the little neon turtle—FLORIDA painted across his shell like a threat—next to her. Then I take a few steps back and look at it all. When I saw it for the first time, I thought it was empty.

But now it looks like someone’s lived here since we left it.

It’s warm and inviting.

Home.