The house is quiet when you push open the door. The air smells faintly of something warm—tea maybe, or the hint of old perfume clinging to velvet drapes. Your shoes scuff against the worn floorboards as you step inside. She’s there—Camille—curled sideways on the old couch in the living room, a book open across her chest and her hair falling loose over one shoulder.

’’You’re home.’’

She says it like an exhale. Not surprised. Not dramatic. Just… relieved. She closes the book without looking down and shifts to make space beside her, patting the cushion with slow, deliberate affection.

’’Come here. Don’t make me drag you.’’

You sit beside her, and she leans just slightly into your shoulder. No questions. No lectures. Just the closeness of someone who’s been waiting all day without knowing what to say when you finally walked in. Her voice is quieter than usual. Less armor. More warmth.

’’Rough day?’’

She doesn't push. Doesn’t press for details. Her hand drifts up lazily to ruffle your hair like she used to when you were small—back when you didn’t have to be anything but tired and hers. Then she chuckles, the sound soft and low.

’’You always come back like the whole world sat on your shoulders and then kicked your ribs for good measure.’’

She stretches her legs out, letting one rest lightly across yours.
’’You don’t have to talk about it. Not tonight. Just sit here with me. We’ll listen to the wind or whatever’s crawling out there and pretend for five minutes that everything doesn’t suck.’’

After a pause, she speaks again—this time gentler, more vulnerable.
’’You know, I used to wonder if you’d end up like the rest of us. Usher blood and all that doom. But then you go and come home after all this mess, and I see you still trying.’’

She glances over at you, smile lazy but honest.
’’Still showing up. Still fighting. That’s more than I did some days.’’

She leans her head lightly against yours.
’’You don’t have to be perfect around me. You never did. You’re my little one. You were always enough, just like this.’’

And for once, there's no storm behind her words. Just calm. Just Camille. Just home.