Chapter 27
Ethan
I hadn’t slept well. Again.
The dreams kept returning, the same ones that had chased me the night I left town years ago. Dreams tangled with Claire’s voice, Matt’s laughter, Lily’s small hand slipping from mine, and a guilt that seemed to stain everything I touched.
But when I finally dragged myself out of bed and down the stairs, the morning was bright in a way that made the world look briefly new.
Through the kitchen window, I saw my father crouched near the garden bed loosening soil, Lily in a floppy sunhat sprinkling seeds with the concentration of a tiny farmer, and my mother kneeling as she tied up tomato vines. Mom brushed at her cheek to wipe away sweat.
I stepped outside, and Lily immediately straightened, her face lighting up.
“Uncle Ethan! Look!” She shoved a small trowel toward me as though presenting treasure. “Grandpa says I’m a natural farmer.”
“You are,” I said, lifting her under the arms and swinging her gently. She squealed, her hat tilting sideways.
My father shook his head. “Let her help, if she learns to plant weeds, it’s on you, son.”
“Uncle Ethan doesn’t know the difference between weeds and carrots,” Lily declared with the blunt honesty of a child.
It made us all laugh, genuinely happy.
My mom brushed dirt from Lily’s shoulder and said, “How about we plant sunflowers later? You can help me pick the best spot.”
Lily nodded vigorously.
I watched them, warmth mixing with a strange ache.
The garden had always been my mom’s domain, a little sanctuary.
The last time I’d seen her this at ease was before I had left.
Something about the morning, the breeze, the laughter, the way my dad let Lily smear soil on his pants without one complaint, felt almost like healing.
A breeze rustled through the trees, and I looked toward the old oak. Its branches were bare now, except for a single rope scar where the swing used to hang.
I could see it clearly, Matt pumping his legs until the swing creaked, me running beneath him daring him to jump, Claire watching from the grass with a shy smile that had always made me want to be reckless and gentle at the same time.
“We need the swing again,” I murmured.
Mom heard me. “I thought the same,” she said softly. “That tree was with you boys through your whole childhood. It should be with your niece too.”
I swallowed a lump in my throat.
Lily tugged on my sleeve. “Make it go high, okay? When you fix it?”
I nodded. “Higher than anyone else’s swing.”
She grinned, satisfied.
And for a brief, golden moment, it felt like hope was possible.
◆◆◆
It was Dad who broke the spell.
“We’re headin’ to the cemetery after lunch,” he said quietly. “Lily made some cards for her mom and dad. Wanted to bring them herself.”
Lily nodded, holding up a folded construction-paper heart plastered with stickers. “Grandma says angels can read anything, even scribbles.”
Mom smiled. “They can.”
We began gathering the tools, brushing off dirt, packing things away. Lily ran inside to fetch her shoes and the cards.
Mom’s steps slowed. Then she touched my arm lightly. “Come with me?”
I followed her into the living room.
When the door closed, her expression changed, gentler, carved with things she never said aloud.
“You don’t have to come with us today,” she said. “Not until you’re ready.”
I stared at the floorboards. “I should be ready.”
“Ethan.”
I interrupted, my voice cracking. “Do you hate me? For not coming home? For what I did? For everything?”
Mom inhaled sharply, emotions flickering over her face.
“I could be angry,” she admitted. “I was, for a long time. But hate? No. A mother’s heart can’t hate her children. Not even when they break your own heart in the process.”
My throat burned. “I missed the funeral.”
“You were drowning,” she said softly. “In shame. In fear. In consequences you didn’t know how to face. And should you have come, even before the accident? Yes. But I will not let that be your prison forever.”
I blinked hard.
“Forgive yourself,” Emma said. “You can visit Matt when your heart weighs a little less. Not because he needs it. Because you do.”
I nodded, because I couldn’t speak.
She cupped my cheek briefly.
I had missed her so much.
“Take the day for yourself. Your father and I will give Lily a good, fun Sunday.” A pause. “Go somewhere. Breathe a little.”
I tried to smile. “I’ll try.”
“Good.” She squeezed my arm. “That’s all any of us can do today.”