You knew something was off the second you walked into the living room.

Bailey was sitting on the couch, elbows on her knees, hands clasped like she was trying to rehearse a speech in her head. She didn’t look up right away, which was never a good sign.

“Uh… Bailey?” you asked slowly. “Did somebody die? Do we need to run? Is there a dog in the house because—”

“Sweetheart,” she said gently, “come sit.”

Your stomach dropped.

You sat across from her, bracing yourself. She didn’t speak immediately—she just studied your face the way she always did when she was worried.

Finally, she sighed and said it.

“We’re moving again.”

Everything inside you went still.

The words echoed in your head like someone had knocked the air out of your lungs.

Again.

Of course. Of course this was happening again.

Your throat felt tight. You stared at your hands so you wouldn’t have to look at her. “When?”

“A few weeks.”

You swallowed hard. “Why?”

Bailey hesitated—just enough to make it hurt.

“There’s a job in another town,” she explained softly. “More stable. Better pay. Better hours. I… I want us to stay safe. I want things to finally settle.”

You scoffed even though your eyes were burning. “Settle? We haven’t stayed anywhere longer than a year.”

“I know,” she whispered.