Chapter 1
CHAPTER ONE
Dakota
SIX YEARS LATER
Six years. Six years since I last set foot in Colter Creek.
The dusty, weathered road stretches ahead, the familiar bumps and dips beneath my tires bringing back memories I thought I’d buried.
I glance over at my son Charlie, who’s leaning against the window, big blue eyes wide with curiosity. He’s a little too quiet for my liking, but I know it’s the curious kind of quiet, not the kind that signals trouble.
“Are we almost there, Mama?”
I swallow hard. This is tougher than I thought it would be.
“Almost, baby. We’ll be there soon.”
I try to smile, but it’s forced. My stomach’s a ball of nerves, and every turn, every mile, feels like it’s pulling me closer to a life I thought I’d left behind forever.
He taps his fingers against the seat, clearly bored, but also clearly trying to make the best of the situation. It’s his way. Charlie’s always been good at adjusting. I wish I could say the same for myself.
“You said your Grandpa left us a house. Are we going to live there?”
His question catches me off guard.
“No, sweetheart. We’re just going to clear it out, maybe sell it. It’s been empty for a long time.”
Charlie’s brow furrows as he stares out the window. I know what’s running through his mind. Why aren’t we going to live there? What’s wrong with it?
I can’t answer him. Not in a way that would make sense to him. Not in a way that would make sense to me.
The truth is, I’ve avoided coming back to Colter Creek for so long because it’s the last tie to a life I couldn’t stomach anymore.
Charlie’s eyes are still fixed on the passing scenery, but he speaks again, quieter this time. “I wish we could live in a house. A real house. Not an apartment.”
His words pierce through me, a reminder of how much I’ve failed him. I’ve given him everything I can, but a part of me knows that he’s missing something only stability can provide.
“I know, baby,” I whisper, my throat tight. “But this house… it will help us get a home of our own. One that we can stay in for a long time, okay? We’ll be fine. You’ll see.”
I grip the steering wheel a little tighter, trying to convince myself as much as him. I need to sell this house. I need the money. The freelance gigs haven’t been enough.
New York was supposed to be my escape, my fresh start. But the city had swallowed me whole, chewed me up, and spit me back out.
Quickly, I found myself pregnant, jobless, and living in an overpriced apartment I could barely afford.
I struggled for years after leaving Colter Creek. Freelance work here and there, not enough to keep a permanent roof over our heads, but enough to make it by. And then there was the constant ache in my chest.
The ache for a place to belong. A place that wasn’t New York City, where I was just another faceless person in a crowd.
That’s why I’m here now. Driving back to the town I thought I’d escaped, to the house my grandfather left me, hoping to find a way out of the mess I’ve made of my life.
We drive in silence for a while, the rhythmic hum of the tires against the road a constant lull. It’s almost comforting. But not quiet enough to drown out the memories, the faces of people I left behind.
When I finally pull into the outskirts of town, Charlie sits up straighter in his seat, his eyes wide with the wonder of small-town life. The faded sign that marks Colter Creek welcomes me like an old, unwanted friend.
“There it is,” I murmur, more to myself than to Charlie.
His gaze flicks between me and the familiar sights of the town. The old diner. The feed store. The dusty main street with the faded wooden signs that could’ve come out of a postcard from the ’50s.
Everything’s exactly the same, and yet it feels different. Like this town’s been waiting for me to come back and finish the story I started.
Charlie leans over and rests his head against my shoulder. I run a hand through his hair, my fingers trembling slightly. “You okay?”
He nods, his face soft. “Yeah. Just… just wanna see the house.”
I nod back, swallowing the lump in my throat. “Me too.”
The house. My grandfather’s house. It was a lifetime ago that I last saw it. Six years, and I’m still not sure if I’m ready to face what’s inside. Or what it represents.
But there’s no turning back now. I can’t keep running. Not when Charlie’s depending on me. And I don’t know how much longer I can fake it.
I need this. We need this.
I slow the car as we approach the house, my heart racing in my chest. The gravel crunches under the tires, and I instinctively take a deep breath, trying to calm my nerves.
The house looms in front of us like a shadow from another time, but as I pull up the driveway, something unexpected happens.
It looks… different from what I remember. It’s still weathered, sure, the porch still a little crooked, but it’s cuter somehow.
The wild roses Grandpa had planted all those years ago have wrapped themselves around the fence in a wild but charming tangle. The old shutters are still sagging, but the sun is casting a warm glow that makes everything seem softer. More… welcoming.
Charlie’s voice cuts through my thoughts. “Wow, Mama! This is it?”
I glance over and see the wonder in his eyes. “Yeah, baby. This is it.”
Throwing the car in park, I take another deep breath.
Before I can even unbuckle my seatbelt, Charlie jumps out of the car, his sneakers kicking up dust as he runs toward the house.
I push open the door and step outside. The cool evening air rushes over me. The smell of earth and trees and grass has a pressure to it that I forgot existed.
Charlie stops just short of the porch and spins around, his eyes wide.
“Can I have the room with the big window?”
I can’t help the laugh that escapes my lips. “We’ll see, buddy. Let’s take a look inside first.”
He’s already trotting up the stairs, ignoring the sagging step near the top. The way he moves with such unshakable confidence makes my heart ache, but in the best way.
I follow him up, taking a moment to survey the porch. A few cracks here and there, a couple of empty flower pots. We’ll be staying here for a while after all.
I’m already thinking about what I could fix myself when I glance back toward the car, debating whether to grab a few things. But Charlie’s voice cuts in.
“C’mon, Mama!” Charlie calls from the door, full of excitement as he pulls at the old, creaky handle. “Let’s see. I want to see.”
I catch up to him, standing beside him in the doorway. The house is dark inside, but I can feel it. I can feel the memories, and for once, it doesn’t feel suffocating. It feels like… a home. A place where a new chapter could start.
The floorboards groan beneath our feet as we step inside, and I smile at the familiar smell of old wood and dust. I pause in the entryway, letting the silence settle around me.
The last time I was here, I was certain I was ready to leave Colter Creek behind for good. Now I’m back with a son who will never know the pain I went through when I walked out of this place.
“Look, Mama! The kitchen has a cool old stove!” Charlie says, breaking through my thoughts.
I look over to see him tugging the heavy wooden door open, revealing the kitchen. The oven, rusted and slightly beaten up, sits in the corner, surrounded by cupboards and countertops that have seen better days, but still have so much character.
Charlie’s eyes light up as he explores, and I can’t help but laugh as he opens every cupboard, inspecting them with the same enthusiasm as if he’s found a hidden treasure.
“You really like it?” I ask, standing in the doorway.
Charlie gives me a big grin. “I love it. Can we have a kitchen like this in our new house?”
I swallow hard again, pushing back the lump in my throat. “Well, I will definitely try.”
I step into the kitchen, running my fingers along the worn countertops. Something about the imperfections of this place makes it feel homely. I didn’t realize how long it had been since I felt this way about anything.
I pull open the back door that leads out to the small backyard, a patch of land my grandfather always insisted on keeping wild and untamed.
Now, it’s overgrown with weeds, but I can see traces of the old garden he loved so much. The small patch of lavender in the corner, the stone path that used to lead to a bench where he’d sit and watch the sun go down.
I step out into the yard, feeling the cool breeze against my skin as it sweeps through the tangled weeds. The earth still smells faintly of lavender, a reminder of the love my grandfather poured into this place.
It’s like he’s still here in the soil, in the wildness of the garden, in the cracks of the stone path leading to nowhere.
Charlie’s words drift out from the kitchen, but I don’t move. Instead, I stand still, breathing it all in. This is what I left behind, what I walked away from. It was both a lifetime ago and just yesterday.
The ache in my chest tightens, but there’s also a glimmer of something. Maybe hope, maybe nostalgia. Maybe I’ve just forgotten what it feels like to breathe in the air of a place that’s always been part of me.
Charlie comes running up behind me, his feet shuffling over the grass as he spins in circles. “Mama, can I play? It’s so cool here!”
I smile and nod, pointing to the far corner where the trees begin to stand tall. “Just stay close, okay? And be careful of the fence.”
He doesn’t need any more encouragement. Off he goes, running wild, his laughter ringing through the atmosphere.
I turn back to the house, and there’s an almost welcome feeling to the dusty rooms inside.
I move through the rooms, picking up a few things here and there, mentally making a checklist of what needs to be done. I haven’t even begun to sort through the boxes of my grandfather’s things yet, but for now, it feels like the right place to be.
When I head back to the living room, Charlie’s playing on the old carpet, making faces in the dust motes that float in the sunlight. I watch him for a moment before moving to the wall next to the staircase.
I pull out the vintage postcards I’ve been carrying in my bag. Vivid snapshots of towns just like this one, moments captured in time. I begin pinning them to the wall with a slight smile, not because I’m making myself at home here, but just because I like to look at them.
While Charlie plays, I grab my sketchbook and settle on the couch by the window. As my pencil moves across the paper, I hum to myself, my mind drifting.
The sound of Charlie’s footsteps running across the floor, the occasional clink of something being dropped, adds a soundtrack to my work. I sketch quickly, as I often do when I’m focused, capturing the simple beauty of the wildflowers in the yard outside the window.
It is lovely here, no doubt about it. But I already know we can’t stay, so I need to push that thought out of my head right away.
Before it sticks.