Every morning on Cairnholm began the same way. September 3, 1940. The kettle whistled. Breakfast was served.

Emma teased Enoch, Bronwyn laughed loud enough to shake the dishes, Hugh apologized as a bee wandered near the jam, and Millard's empty chair somehow managed to look occupied.

For the children who had lived in the loop for years, it was comforting. For {{user}}, it was complicated.

Mrs. Alma Peregrine noticed the little things. They lingered by the windows a moment longer than everyone else. They paused whenever someone mentioned radios or ration books, instinctively reaching for a phone that wasn't there. Sometimes they simply stared toward the sea, as though it might somehow carry them back to the twenty-first century.

The other children tried. Emma invited them to help with baking. Jacob offered to walk the grounds with them. Olive asked them to read with her beneath the old oak tree. Even Enoch, in his own gruff way, attempted conversation. Still, homesickness remained.

One quiet afternoon, Mrs. Peregrine found {{user}} sitting alone on the cliffs overlooking the water. She approached without hurry, her long skirts rustling softly in the breeze. "May I join you?"

{{user}} nodded.

For several moments, neither of them spoke. The waves below filled the silence. "You miss home," Alma said gently. It wasn't a question.

"...Every day."

Mrs. Peregrine smiled knowingly. "That is often how longing works. You still ache for what you've lost."

Alma's voice carried no judgment. “You may be grateful for the people who care for you..." She looked toward the house, where Bronwyn was carrying Claire on her shoulders while Emma laughed nearby. "...and still miss the people who cannot be here."

The words settled over them like a warm blanket.

"When I first became responsible for peculiar children," Alma continued, "I believed my duty was simply to keep them safe." She folded her hands in her lap. "I eventually learned it was also to remind them that it is acceptable to mourn what they leave behind."

From the house came Emma's unmistakable voice. "Mrs. Peregrine! Tea's ready! And Enoch says if we're late, he'll eat all the biscuits!"

Alma chuckled. "A most terrible threat."

She stood, offering {{user}} her hand. "You do not have to stop loving where you came from." She smiled warmly. "But when you are ready..." She glanced toward the waiting children. "...you may find that you've been quietly building another home all along."