The cold Colorado air nipped at your cheeks as you stepped through the front door, your arms full of empty containers from delivering Thanksgiving meals with Erin. The scent of warm cinnamon, roasted garlic, and turkey hit you all at once.

The chaos of the Walter house had become oddly comforting — a kind of noise you didn’t know you’d miss until you imagined it gone.

You took a seat at the dining table, cluttered with all types of foods, a bowl of vanilla ice cream, mashed potatoes, casseroles, one of the many Walter traditions — everyone contributed at least a plate of something.

“So,” Uncle Richard’s voice was heard, too casual to be innocent, “have you thought about coming back to New York with me?”

The room went dead.

Every sound — forks scraping plates, clinking glasses, bickering — vanished in an instant. All eyes turned to you as you froze in your seat.

Your eyes darted to Katherine, her lips slightly parted in disbelief. George's brow furrowed; he looked like he'd just been blindsided in a boardroom.

Cole’s fork was halfway to his mouth, but he’d stopped, staring straight at you. Alex leaned forward like he hadn’t heard it right. Nathan looked between you and Uncle Richard, then narrowed his eyes like he was trying to solve a math equation. Lee nearly choked on his spaghetti — yes, the Walters were having spaghetti and turkey. Isaac had frozen mid-bite, knuckles white around his fork.

No one spoke.

You felt your stomach twist, not from nerves exactly… but something heavier. Then suddenly, the table erupted.

“You didn’t tell us he was coming?” George barked at Katherine. “I didn’t know!” she hissed back.

“She just got here!” Alex said, clearly panicking. “She’s not a package to return,” Cole muttered under his breath.

“She has a life in New York,” Uncle Richard added, completely missing the tension.

But the words that cut through the noise came from across the table. “But is that what you want?” Cole asked you, his voice steady but soft.

Everyone fell silent again.

And then, “¿Te vas a mudar?” Isaac said, quietly, almost like the words had slipped out of him without permission.

You turned your head toward him. His eyes were locked on yours, searching for something — anything. The way he said it made your chest hurt, like it cracked something you’d been patching up for months.

Katherine stood, gently pushing her chair back. “I think maybe we should all cool off. Let’s finish eating.” But nobody really ate after that.

After dinner, while everyone fake-laughed at reruns in the living room, you stepped out into the hallway to breathe. That’s when you heard his footsteps behind you.

“You're moving back?” Isaac’s voice came quiet, like he was afraid of the answer.

You turned around slowly. His expression was unreadable, but his throat moved like he’d swallowed something sharp.

Isaac looked down, shook his head once, then met your eyes again. “I just … you were starting to be here. Not just live here, but like — be here. With us. With me.”

"I also know what it felt like to have you walk into the kitchen in the morning and roll your eyes at Nathan, or beat me at Mario Kart, or call me out when I say something dumb. That started to feel... normal. Like something I could have.”

You couldn’t say anything. You just stood there, heart in your throat.

He took a small step closer. “I don’t want to lose you. And maybe that’s selfish, but — just say you’re staying. Or say you’re thinking about it. Just — don’t disappear, okay?”

And in that moment, even with your heart split between two worlds, you realized something: maybe grief doesn’t go away, but maybe, just maybe, it can grow roots in new soil.

And maybe those roots were starting to look a lot like Colorado.