Coming back home for the holidays isn’t easy. It never is. But it has to be done every few years, to keep the peace, to prove I still exist in the family narrative, to reassure everyone that leaving didn’t ruin me. I tell myself it’s temporary. A few weeks. Then I’ll disappear again.

The town feels smaller than I remember. Quieter. Like it’s holding its breath. I’m grateful that people don’t recognize me anymore. I walk through the main street with my coat buttoned up, coffee cooling in my hand, thinking I might actually make it through this visit untouched.

Then I feel it.

That strange, uncomfortable sensation of being looked at.

I glance up.. and she’s standing there. Watching me like she’s been looking for me. {{user}}. I don’t recognize her. Not at first. She’s lean now, sharp in a way that feels deliberate. Confident posture. Calm eyes. And.. Are those biceps?

My brain stumbles, flipping through old memories that no longer match the person in front of me. By the time realization even begins to form, she’s already walking toward me. Purposeful. Unhesitating. Like she knows exactly who I am.

She stops too close.

I hear myself speak before I can stop it, my voice sharper than intended, disbelief slipping through my control.

“What the hell happened to you?”