Chapter 1 #2
I stand there, unknowing what to do. Everything feels off in this house I once called my safe place. It still is in a sense, but it’s different. Now, it’s laced with pain and secrets.
“Mark, honey, I moved the file folder you left on the counter to the third drawer.”
“What would I do without you?” Dad asks Grandma as he opens the drawer and finds the folder he was searching for.
“Probably starve to death, amongst other things,” she tells him, causing us all to chuckle.
When Dad stands, we both stare at each other for a beat too long.
“I’ll have someone in the cottage tomorrow for a little inspection. Your–” He hesitates, swallowing past emotion and clearing his throat. “Your mom kept good care of the cottage, but no one’s stayed in a while.”
“Thanks, Dad. I…I can call around and hire someone if you don’t have time.”
He shakes his head. “Not a problem, Wren. Save your money.”
“Dad, really, money isn’t…”
“I know,” he interjects. “Let me do this, okay?”
With a nod, I drop the subject.
Grandma doesn’t press the elephant in the room.
She’s never been the one to say much, always waiting for us to approach certain topics.
She nods toward the coffeepot. “Pour yourself a mug, then go sit with your grandpa. He’s in the front room, away from all this commotion.
” Her voice is soft, coaxing, an unspoken, “take your time.”
The rich smell of brewed coffee pulls me toward the counter. I pour two mugs before continuing down the hallway, the boards creaking in rhythm with my heartbeat.
The front family room is quieter, a world away from the bustle of the kitchen and dining area.
The old recliner sits near the big window that looks out toward the barn.
Grandpa’s settled into it, the afternoon light gilding the lines of his weathered face, while his favorite soap opera flickers on the TV.
“Hey, Gramps.”
“Hey, Pumpkin,” he says, eyes still glued to the TV.
As I step deeper into the room, I set his mug on the side table next to his recliner before moving to the leather sofa across from him.
My eyes land on the gallery wall as I look up. Framed family photographs fill the space. There’s Mom, smiling in a faded print, arms around Nate and me, frozen in a summer long gone on one of our family beach vacations. My throat tightens as I try to recall her laugh.
A low whistle snaps me out of the memory. “Well, don’t you look pretty.”
Heat creeps onto my cheeks as I adjust the pencil skirt from where it’d ridden up when I sat down. My heels sink slightly into the old rug.
“Thanks.” I bring the mug to my lips and take a sip.
My time in California made me a matcha girl, but there’s something about the taste of Gramps’s coffee that’s nostalgic.
When I was little, I’d scramble up onto his lap, sip his bitter brew, and let the drama on TV wash over me.
For a while, it felt like the world stood still.
I feel his gaze as he studies me, lingering a touch too long, the way everyone does now. Like they’re trying to reconcile the girl who left with the woman who came back, rail-thin and hollowed out. A ghost of the girl she used to be. I shift, uncomfortable beneath the weight of it.
A beat of silence passes, filled only by the drone of the TV. Then, softly, “You know, Pumpkin, no one’s going to be upset if you decide this—Hannah’s Haven—isn’t what you want. Your gram, Dad, and I…we’ve all accepted that it might be too much.”
The words settle heavily in the space between us. I grip the mug and stare down at the dark liquid.
“You might have accepted it,” I murmur, voice thin, “but I haven’t. It’s the least I can do after leaving the way I did.”
The truth is, I don’t know what I want to do now that I’m back in Silo Bay. The only thing I do know is…I want to feel a piece of my mom, and if taking over Hannah’s Haven is the answer, then that’s what I’ll do.
Gramps’s eyes soften as he mutes the TV. “Wren, no one blames you for living your life. Your mom wouldn’t want you carrying all this on your shoulders.”
I blink hard, the weight of his words burning hot against my eyes, busying myself with a sip of coffee. It’s bold and bitter, exactly how I remember, the taste grounding me to the past.
But the guilt is louder.
They might not blame me for living my life, but I sure as hell regret letting things get this bad.
At first, it was hard to come back with the heartache and confusion, but then being away from home it started to feel like a fresh start.
An opportunity to learn more about who I am outside of the town and family that shaped me.
Eventually, I came back for holidays until I moved West. Then everything started to shift, and the way I viewed my hometown and family farm became skewed.
But that’s another story for another day.
“Pumpkin…” he starts, voice thick with patience, with love. Before he can finish, a shrill alarm blares from my purse, making Gramps and I jump. “What the hell is that?”
“Sorry,” I mutter, digging for my phone. Hitting the screen, the noise cuts off. “I set my alarm for my meeting. This time change is kicking my ass.”
“You’ll get used to it.” His smile is warm.
With the clock app closed, I take a second to skim the never-ending notifications. Messages from Collin, my lawyer, and Leo, my trustworthy security guard, wait for me. Their messages remind me of the mess I left behind, but allow reassurance that I made the right decision in coming home. Finally.
I rise from the sofa, a few steps bringing me to his recliner, and I bend to kiss his cheek. His calloused hand, still strong despite the years, catches mine.
“I’m so glad to have you back, kiddo. Let Silo Bay heal you.”
The lump in my throat nearly chokes me. “Love you, Gramps.”