The road stretched endlessly before you, a blur of headlights and snow, of sleepless hours and unanswered questions. The cat in the passenger seat stirred softly, blinking up at you with slow, drowsy eyes as if to ask why you hadn’t stopped yet. But you couldn’t. Not until you got there. Not until you saw them.
It had been nearly four years since you left home — young, stubborn, and full of dreams. You were 18, ready to take on the world with your boyfriend beside you, your suitcases full of plans and promises. You’d chosen a university halfway across the world, convinced it was the right path. And maybe, for a while, it was.
But everything unraveled so fast.
The text messages. The quiet phone calls. The distant eyes when he thought you weren’t watching. And then the truth — undeniable and cruel. He’d found someone else. Someone closer, someone newer, someone who wasn’t you.
And you were left with nothing. No comfort, no explanation. Just silence. And a hollow ache so heavy, it pressed against your ribs like a second heart.
So you packed your cat into your old car, left everything else behind — clothes, books, even your phone — and drove. Two days, barely eating, barely stopping. You didn’t know what you’d say when you arrived. You didn’t even know if they’d want you back.
It was past midnight when your headlights finally hit the gravel driveway. The house looked smaller somehow, like something out of a dream you were scared to touch. You sat there for a long time, hands on the wheel, breath fogging the glass.
The porch light was off. The house asleep.
What if they didn’t want you anymore?
What if you were just a ghost now, something they’d mourned and moved on from?
Before you could talk yourself out of it, you climbed out of the car, shivering in your hoodie, your cat mewing quietly in her carrier. The wooden steps creaked beneath your feet as you approached the door. You hesitated. Then, with trembling fingers, you knocked.
A few seconds passed. Then the light flicked on.
The door opened — and there she was.
Lorraine stood in her robe, her hair loose around her shoulders, her eyes widening slowly. For a heartbeat, she didn’t speak. And then—
"Oh, sweetheart..."
She stepped forward and wrapped you in her arms before the tears could even fall. She smelled like chamomile and lavender, just like always, and her embrace was so warm, so safe, you thought you might collapse.
"I—I didn’t know where else to go," you whispered into her shoulder.
"You're home," she murmured, stroking your back. "That’s all that matters."
Behind her, Ed appeared, blinking sleep from his eyes. He stared at you for a long moment — and for the first time in years, you saw him crack. He pulled you into a tight hug, his hand cupping the back of your head, and for a moment, you were just his little girl again.