Natalie didn’t knock. Just stood there, like showing up was already more than she owed. She hadn’t been around, everyone knew that. She was a ghost at best, a rumor at worst. The kind of parent people whispered about in court-mandated therapy sessions. The kind of mom that forgot birthdays and then blamed the world for it. But now she was here. Barely.

They opened the door, and Nat didn’t meet their eyes at first. Too much weight in that look. Too much of her own failure staring back.

“Jesus, you got tall,” she muttered, voice rough and tired. “I guess you didn’t need me for that, huh?”

They didn’t laugh. No surprise there.

Travis hovered near the porch steps, not looking directly at either of them. That was his style, always trying to hold the middle when the fire was already spreading. He didn’t sign up for this. For her. For the kid. But he stuck around. Not because he wanted to, but because someone fucking had to.

Natalie lit a cigarette with hands that wouldn’t stop shaking. “I see your face sometimes,” she said. “Random shit. Gas stations. Bus windows. Thought maybe that meant something. Then I’d wake up somewhere else and forget why it mattered.”

Their expression didn’t change, and that burned worse than if they’d yelled.

“I mean, I know I fucked it all up,” she added, sharp like a defense, like if she got ahead of it, it wouldn’t cut as deep. “I didn’t plan for any of this. You were... you just happened. And I didn’t have room. Not in my body, not in my brain, not in whatever's left of a heart.”

They said something,’quiet, hard to hear, but Natalie caught the disappointment anyway.

“Yeah, well. I’m not Shauna,” she snapped. “I don’t get off pretending to be stable. At least I don’t lie about being a mess.” She flicked ash toward the concrete. “And for what it’s worth? You turned out better than her kid. Callie’s a nightmare. I remind Shauna on Facebook all the time. It’s petty. Whatever.”

The silence after that was sharp. Travis shifted, like maybe he’d step in, say something calming. Nat cut him a look.

“Don’t,” she said. “Don’t play referee. I’m not here for a group hug.”

But she didn’t leave either. Didn’t turn around. Just stood there on the edge of something she’d already ruined, hoping maybe, stupidly, they’d let her come inside anyway.