Chapter 1
Erica set her suitcase down next to the weathered wooden door and knocked three times, her hand trembling slightly. She drew in a deep, steadying breath. Don’t cry, she told herself, though the reminder felt pointless.
The car ride had been a symphony of tears and Taylor Swift, her sobs punctuating every chorus as she sang the pain out of her chest. By the time she arrived, she’d convinced herself her well of grief was dry.
Then the porch light flickered on, and Leah’s face appeared, her sister’s familiar, kind eyes lined with worry. The sight undid her completely. The floodgates reopened, and Erica broke into ragged, uncontrollable sobs.
“Oh, Erica.” Leah didn’t hesitate. She pulled her younger sister into a firm embrace, patting her hair like she always had when they were kids.
“I thought you weren’t coming until tomorrow,” Leah said softly, guiding Erica inside with a protective arm around her shoulder. Then she pulled back slightly, blinking. “Wait – your hair?”
Erica patted her recently dyed chocolate-brown locks. “I needed a change.” She didn’t add anything more. The truth felt too tangled to explain.
The heat of the small cottage hit her immediately, along with a chaotic flurry of movement. A large black dog bounded into the hallway, tail wagging like a propeller, its enthusiasm aimed squarely at Erica.
She yelped, stepping back.
“Dusty, no! Honestly, he’s usually got at least some manners,” Leah said, grabbing the dog by the collar and wrestling him back with a laugh that was half apology, half exasperation. “Today, apparently, he’s feral.”
Erica wiped her face, blinking at the commotion, still trying to catch up with everything at once.
She’d never really understood dogs – too much energy, too much fur and way too much enthusiasm.
Dylan appeared from the kitchen, wielding a ladle like a reluctant gladiator.
“Welcome, Erica,” he said.
“Thanks,” Erica replied, her own smile still tentative but a little less forced.
Leah called something up the stairs, leaving Erica hovering awkwardly in the hallway with Dylan.
“So …” Dylan shifted the ladle from one hand to the other. “Long drive?”
Erica gave a small nod. “Yeah.”
“Music good, at least?”
She hesitated, then said, “Very dramatic.”
“Best kind,” he said. “You can’t properly process a life crisis without a solid soundtrack.”
That earned the faintest flicker of a smile from her.
Dylan seemed to take that as a win and nodded at the kitchen door. “Come through when you’re ready. Or when Dusty allows it.”
As if on cue, the dog barked again.
Erica exhaled slowly as Dylan disappeared, the noise and warmth of the house settling around her.
Still in her damp coat, Erica drifted into the low-ceilinged living room. The fire crackled steadily, drawing her in. She held her hands out to the heat.
She wasn’t sure when she’d last felt properly warm.
Her gaze moved to the mantelpiece, cluttered with bits of family life. A toilet roll painted black with glued-on wings wobbled precariously beside a tiny ceramic pumpkin.
Erica tilted her head. “Terrifying,” she murmured.
Two photo frames sat beside it.
The first showed Leah and Dylan, laughing, completely at ease. Maisie, she was sure it was Maisie, sat on Dylan’s shoulders, arms stretched wide like she might take off.
The second frame made her still.
There she was. Perfect, polished, smiling. A version of herself she barely recognised now.
And beside her—
Her breath caught.
She reached instinctively for her phone. Half expecting, half dreading something that would make sense of it all.
But the thought vanished as a blur of energy launched itself at her.
“Auntie Erica!”
Maisie crashed into her, wrapping her arms tightly around Erica’s waist.
Erica blinked in surprise, then rested a hand awkwardly on her back. “Hi, Maisie.”
“I’ve got so much to show you,” Maisie said, already pulling away, words tumbling over each other. “My room’s different and I’ve got a new teacher and Mum says I might be allowed a hamster but only if I—”
“Alright,” Erica said, a faint smile tugging at her lips. “One thing at a time. I’m still processing the hamster.”
Maisie giggled, bouncing on the spot in her skeleton-covered pyjamas, curls flying everywhere.
Leah appeared behind her, rolling her eyes fondly. “Give her a minute to breathe, Maisie. She’s only just walked in.”
Erica let out a slow breath, her head still spinning slightly from the sudden shift in pace.
“You haven’t seen Maisie since last Christmas,” Leah added. “Remember? We came down to London.”
“Maisie,” Erica repeated, anchoring the name this time. “Of course.”
Maisie beamed like she’d just passed a test.
“You got me that massive cake,” she said proudly.
“With jelly,” Leah added.
“And sprinkles,” Maisie said.
“An architectural masterpiece,” Dylan called from the kitchen.
Erica huffed a quiet laugh, shaking her head. “How could I forget?”
“You were crazy busy back then,” she said, waving her hand dismissively. “But you still squeezed us in.”
She remembered the evening in question – rushing from one brand meeting to the next. Her mind had been elsewhere, focused on content creation and sponsorship deals, while her family had politely slotted themselves into the margins of her packed schedule.
Now she relied on her sister to let her in.
She nodded towards the mantelpiece. “You never told me there’s an artist in the family. Did you do that bat?”
Maisie straightened instantly. “Yes. And a zombie. It’s even better.”
“I’m sure it is,” Erica said.
“You have to come see it!”
Erica hesitated, exhaustion tugging hard at her. “Maybe tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow,” Leah said smoothly, stepping in. “Right now, dinner.”
Leah gave Erica a pointed look but kept her tone light. “I’ve made up the spare room for you. You don’t need to worry about anything tonight.”
“That’s sweet of you, thanks.” Erica waved a limp hand. “You don’t need to fuss over me, though.”
“Nonsense,” Leah replied briskly, steering a disappointed Maisie to the dining table. The kitchen smelled rich of garlic, tomatoes, something slow-cooked and familiar.
Erica’s stomach betrayed her with a quiet growl.
“Perfect timing,” Dylan said, setting down a bowl. “We were giving it another five minutes, but I was starting to lose hope.”
“I would never,” Leah said.
“You absolutely would,” he replied.
Maisie climbed into her chair. “Mum nearly burned the garlic bread.”
“I did not burn it.”
“It was black.”
“It was well done.”
Erica let out a small laugh, shaking her head as she sat down.
Dylan poured her a glass of wine without asking.
She took it gratefully and drained half in one go. “Better,” she said.
“That bad?” he asked lightly.
She gave a small shrug. “Long day.”
“That earns at least two glasses,” he said, topping it up.
Leah raised an eyebrow but didn’t comment.
As Erica reached for the garlic bread, the warmth of the room, the noise of conversation, the simple normality of it all began to settle around her.