Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Lizzie and Jane sank into the plush sofa they had just moved into the living room, a collective sigh escaping their lips. "Can you believe that’s everything?" Lizzie exclaimed, her eyes wide with disbelief.

"It's perfect, Lizzie," Jane replied, stretching her arms. "This place is going to be adorable once everything is unpacked."

Lizzie smiled, her gaze sweeping across the living room, which was filled with boxes that surrounded her new furniture. After months of scouring estate sales, thrift stores, and the occasional sketchy Facebook Marketplace meetup, she had curated a collection that was fully her own. The couch they sat on was checkered in light blue and white and felt like sitting on a cloud. There were comfortable striped chairs in the corners by the built-in shelves that were perfect for curling up with a book. Throughout the house were various dressers, tables, and bookcases that Lizzie and her father had painstakingly refinished. Soon she would unpack each box, and arrange her colorful pillows, books, and trinkets to her hearts content. It was a far cry from the sterile, impersonal home she had shared with George.

"I think so too," Lizzie whispered, fighting the swell of emotion that raised in her.

"What do you think, should we order dinner?" Jane asked, breaking through Lizzie's reverie.

"Sounds great," she replied. "I did promise to feed the two of you. Should I call Sal’s for pizza?”

"Perfect," Jane said, turning to go upstairs. "I'll let Charlie know. He should be done with the bedframe soon."

"What do you want on it?" Lizzie called after her.

"Whatever," Jane replied over her shoulder. "We're easy."

Lizzie chuckled, picking up her phone to place the order. After ordering, she wandered to the fridge, grateful she had stocked up on Stella earlier. As she popped off the lid, she heard Charlie's heavy footsteps coming down the stairs.

"Alright, Lizzie, your bedroom is ready," Charlie announced, a wide grin on his face. "I even made the bed."

Jane appeared behind him, slapping him playfully on the shoulder. "And I remade it because I actually know how to use a throw pillow," she teased.

"Throw pillows are useless," Charlie retorted, wrapping his arm around Jane's waist. "It's in the name. You throw them on the floor when you sleep."

"Lizzie's throw pillows are beautiful," Jane countered. "They deserve to be displayed."

"Was the bed difficult to put together, Charlie?" Lizzie asked.

"Not really," Charlie replied. "The king mattress was a pain in the ass to get upstairs, though."

"Oh, the sleep I'll get on that mattress will be worth it," Lizzie said, stretching. "After two years on a full-sized bed in my parents' guest room, I'm ready to sprawl."

"I don't blame you," Jane said, laughing. "Let's take our drinks outside. Dinner should be here soon."

The trio headed to the front yard, laying on the grass and enjoying their beers while they waited for the pizza. Lizzie was grateful for the cool breeze that had come in, as the day had been unusually hot for mid-May. Soon, the pizza arrived, and they settled in on the porch to eat. Jane and Lizzie sat on the new porch swing, while Charlie sat on the floor.

After a few minutes of companionable silence, Elizabeth broke the quiet with a soft, sincere smile. “You guys, I can’t thank you enough for all your help. I couldn’t have done this without you.”

“We’re happy to help,” Jane replied, dabbing at her mouth with a napkin. “It’s been kind of magical, watching it all come together.”

“It’s not just today,” Elizabeth added, her voice thick with gratitude. “Everything you’ve done—it's been incredible.”

Six months earlier, after a long string of disappointments and dead ends, she had finally stumbled across the listing by accident, a tired old Italianate in the historic part of Loon Cove, with beautiful maple trees in the yard. The house had belonged to a woman in her nineties who had lived there since the '50s. After a few quiet years sitting empty while the owner was in assisted living, the family had finally decided to sell.

The structure had good bones, high ceilings, and a gorgeous staircase, but time hadn’t been kind to the interior. Faux wood paneling covered nearly every wall on the first floor, and the kitchen was a shrine to avocado green and linoleum tile. The wiring was outdated, the plumbing questionable, and the upstairs bathroom was inexplicably carpeted.

Still, Elizabeth saw past all of it. She saw her son Henry playing in the yard, sipping coffee on the porch swing, and curtains billowing in the summer breeze. When she told her family she wanted to make an offer, they hadn’t hesitated.

Her dad and Uncle Matt, who co-owned a construction company, took on the heavy lifting: pulling up carpet to reveal pine floors that they sanded and stained back to life, reworking the electrical to meet code, and tearing out a dropped ceiling in the dining room to expose the original plaster medallion. Charlie jumped in after clinic hours, wielding a paintbrush like a pro and becoming surprisingly invested in choosing the right shade of “not-too-white” for the trim. Jane showed up with blueberry muffins, emotional support, and the ability to power through a to-do list like it was a competitive sport.

It was a long, messy, exhausting process, filled with crumbling plaster, a hidden squirrel nest in the attic, and a plumbing issue that had her briefly questioning every life choice she’d ever made. Most nights, after teaching all day at the high school, Elizabeth would roll up her sleeves and work until past Henry’s bedtime, collapsing onto bed in her parent’s guest room with paint in her hair and aching muscles.

And now, finally, here they were. Jane and Charlie were helping with the last, and possibly worst, task: the move itself. But the furniture was in, their stomachs were full, and for the first time in a long time, Lizzie could finally breathe.

“Are you sure you don’t want help setting up Henry’s bedroom?” Jane interrupted Lizzie’s thoughts, beginning to clean up the pizza box and empty bottles from the porch.

Lizzie grinned softly.

“No, I want to get it ready myself. I just want it done by the time mom drops him off tomorrow afternoon, so he feels settled.”

“Well, you’ll have time to get things just the way you want them. But if you need any more help just let me know, I can come over after the café closes tomorrow.”

“Will you two go home already?" Lizzie joked, “I swear I can’t get rid of you.”

“No, actually I think we’re just going to move in with you,” Charlie deadpanned, “we might as well at this point.”

“Ha ha ha,” Lizzie joked. “Why don’t you guys head out? Get some rest. I’ll just be plugging away at all of this, and you’ve more than earned it.”

Jane and Charlie nodded in agreement, and after dinner was cleaned up and put away, they headed for their car.

“I’m so proud of you,” Jane whispered, squeezing Lizzie tightly, “let me know if you need anything.”

“I will,” Lizzie said, returning her hug just as tightly, “I love you.”

They released each other and after giving Charlie a quick hug, Lizzie watched and waved as they climbed into their car and pulled out of the driveway.

Lizzie wandered back inside, letting the neck of her beer bottle dangle from her fingertips as she surveyed the rooms.

There wasn’t too much left to do. She had been slowly moving over some of her things as the renovation allowed, and she and her mother had gone to the house the previous weekend to organize the kitchen and set up the bathrooms. The rest of the work would be putting odds and ends away, organizing her clothes, and of course, her books.

In typical English teacher fashion, Lizzie had a massive collection of books. Most of which had been in boxes for the last two years, as her parent’s didn’t have the shelf space for them. In fact, the plethora of built ins were probably the main selling point for the house, in Lizzie’s opinion. She would be free to proudly display her collection and couldn’t wait to arrange them.

But her first, and most important task, was setting up her four-year-old son’s bedroom. Henry was excited about the new house and had been there many times over the last six months, but he had never slept there. He was generally an easy-going kid, but after two years of living with Lizzie at her parent’s house, effectively the only home he could remember, he was understandably nervous about the change, and after two years of guestroom living, Lizzie understood the full importance of having a routine. She hoped that if his room was ready and waiting for him it would make the transition a little easier. Lizzie could live out of boxes if it meant Henry was comfortable and settled. She had been doing it already.

Lizzie climbed the stairs to the corner bedroom she had chosen to be his. Through the open door, she could see the new dotted rug, rolled up and resting against the blue beadboard. A few cardboard boxes sat stacked at the far end with HENRY’S TOYS labeled in her mother’s neat handwriting. Inside were his favorite things, an old John Deere toy tractor that her father had given him, a stuffed fox that he carried everywhere from the ages two to three and still slept with, and a set of child sized Legos he could spend hours putting together. Lizzie arranged them on the low shelves of the thrifted bookcase she’d painted red, Henry’s favorite color. She unpacked the rest of the toys and books into the storage cubes and onto the shelves so they would be easily accessible to him.

She unfurled the rug and made the bed, carefully smoothing out the new animal sheets Henry had picked out himself and placing the yellow bedspread and pillows on top, with the stuffed fox nestled at the front. Next, she unpacked his clothes, folding them into the old wooden dresser that had been hers as a child, and hanging his shirts in the small closet. With the practical items out of the way, Lizzie was free to decorate more. She hung the rainbow bunting made by her aunt along the ceiling and tacked onto the walls pictures of Henry’s favorite animals. On the windowsill sat a jar of stones they collected from Little Loon Lake last summer, with space beside it for another one to be filled this year.

The whole room took about two hours to complete, and by the time Lizzie was done the day had faded into dusk outside of the window. She stretched her arms, cracking her knuckles as she flexed her tired hands. She plodded into the bathroom, took a quick shower to wash the moving grime off, brushed her teeth, and made her way into her bedroom, where she only had to dig through two boxes to find her pajamas. She dried off quickly, blessing Jane in her mind for making the bed for her as she crawled under the sheets. The bed was the only thing ready to go in her room, but as her muscles protested every move she made, Lizzie figured it could wait until tomorrow.

She lay in bed for a long time, staring up at the ceiling as the last three years played out in her mind, keeping her awake.

Lizzie had met George Wickham during the first week of their senior year at Michigan State.

It was a sticky, late-summer evening, the kind that clung to your skin. Her friend Katie had begged her to come to a party, one of those semi-organized college cookouts thrown together on a whim to celebrate Labor Day weekend. Katie had a crush on a guy named Denny, and he and his roommate were grilling in their backyard, “nothing major,” she’d said, but she didn’t want to show up alone.

Lizzie hadn’t had anything better to do, so she climbed into Katie’s battered Corolla, humming along to the radio as they pulled up to a surprisingly well-kept house just off the edge of campus, nicer than your typical student rental. The grass was mowed. The porch had string lights. There was a basketball hoop over the garage and a Sparty flag hanging neatly from a pole beside the door.

George was easy to spot.

He was the one holding court near the grill, tall, sun-kissed, with an easy confidence and a beer in hand. Denny, already red-faced from the heat and effort, was actually doing the grilling, flipping burgers and hot dogs while George made people laugh. Lizzie clocked the dynamic immediately. George was the kind of guy who didn’t need to do the work to make an impression, he just had to be there.

She hadn’t planned to talk to him. But within thirty minutes, somehow he’d found her, or made her feel like she’d found him. One moment, she was watching Katie try to chat up Denny, and the next, she was tucked into the far corner of the living room on a sagging couch, a cold Solo cup in her hand, while George Wickham spun stories like he’d known her for years.

He had this way of looking at people when they spoke, like every word they said was fascinating. Like she was the only one in the room, the only one who mattered. And he was funny, quick, charming, and just a little self-deprecating in a way that made her feel safe opening up.

He told her he’d grown up in the suburbs outside Detroit—Birmingham, though he said it like he was slightly embarrassed by it, and admitted with a sheepish smile that his parents had bought the house they were in, just so he could “have a decent place to live during school.”

“But we pay rent,” he added quickly, grinning. “Well, Denny does. I do most of the time. My mom calls it a life lesson in monthly installments.”

He made it sound like a joke, but even then, Lizzie had the sense that George Wickham had never gone without much. Not that she cared. He was magnetic in the way that some people just are, with that intoxicating mix of confidence and carelessness, like the world would always bend to make room for him.

That night, as they laughed and talked, Lizzie remembered thinking how easy it felt, how easy he felt. She hadn’t been looking for anything serious. She’d just wanted to enjoy her last year, keep her head down, finish strong. But by the time she left that party, George Wickham had started to rewrite that plan.

And that was the beginning.

That first night blurred into a few more just like it.

George texted her the next morning, casual, confident, like he already knew she’d be happy to hear from him.

“Still thinking about that story you told me. You free for coffee?”

 One latte turned into dinner, which turned into a late-night walk, which turned into waking up with his arm around her and her heart already tangled up in something she hadn’t expected.

Their relationship moved fast. Not in a reckless way, at least, not at first. George had a gift for making things seem inevitable. Like skipping steps wasn’t rushing, it was just right. They were both busy with their final year of classes, Lizzie juggling her senior seminar and student teaching, George finishing up his business degree, but somehow they always found time for each other. He’d surprise her with flowers from the grocery store or make her laugh so hard she cried when she was stressed about a paper. He took her on drives out past the edge of town, to apple orchards and cider mills she’d never known were there.

And for a while, it was good. Effortless.

But her friends weren’t so sure.

Katie, whose crush on Denny had fizzled into vague annoyance, was the first to voice her doubts.

“I mean, he’s charming,” she said one night over wine in Lizzie’s apartment, “but don’t you think it’s weird that he never really talks about his classes? Or like… what he wants to do after graduation?”

Lizzie had brushed it off. “He talks about stuff.”

“He talks about stories,” Katie countered. “Not plans. There’s a difference.”

Jane was more diplomatic, as always. She met George, when he came to visit over fall break. He was polite, asked thoughtful questions, and helped her carry in groceries. But later, when they were alone in the kitchen, Jane tilted her head and said gently,

“He’s very… polished. Are you happy?”

Lizzie had rolled her eyes. “Of course I’m happy.”

And she had been. At least then.

Her parents, for their part, were cautious. Her mother was thrilled, at first, to hear Lizzie was seeing someone, but grew more hesitant the longer it went on. “He’s very charming,” Fran said with a wary smile the Christmas he stayed with them.

Her father didn’t say much, he rarely did when he didn’t approve, but he watched George closely whenever they were in the same room.

But Lizzie had always prided herself on trusting her instincts. George made her feel seen, special, chosen. After years of dating guys who ghosted or strung her along, George had felt like an answer to a question she hadn’t even asked.

She ignored the little things at first, the stories that didn’t quite add up, the moments when he seemed distracted or unreachable, the way he always had a smooth explanation when she brought up something that had made her pause.

They moved in together just after graduation.

And from there, the cracks that had been easy to ignore started to show.

George took a job working for his father’s business, something to do with client relations, though the specifics were always vague, and they settled into a rental house his parents owned in Royal Oak. Lizzie would’ve preferred that they find their own place, something small and worn-in with charm and mismatched furniture they picked out themselves, instead of the already furnished house his parent’s had flipped. But George had a way of making everything sound practical. He pointed out how hard it could be to find good rentals in Detroit, how his parents were offering them a great deal, and how they could start saving up for a down payment on their own house one day. It all sounded reasonable, and Lizzie didn’t feel like arguing over what seemed like a smart financial decision. Besides, she genuinely liked George’s parents. Or she wanted to.

They were always polite, gracious, even but Lizzie sometimes sensed an invisible wall between them. George’s mom was warm and welcoming on the surface, always quick to include her in family gatherings and holidays, but there were small comments, careful questions about Lizzie’s “background” that hinted she’d had different expectations for her only child. His father, smooth and connected, knew just the right people to help Lizzie land her first teaching job. He even made a call to someone on the board of a very exclusive prep school in Bloomfield Hills. Lizzie got the job, and she was grateful, but part of her always wondered whether she’d earned it or been handed it because it made George’s family look good.

Still, the first couple of years passed in a pleasant enough blur. They were young, working hard, and playing harder, hosting little dinner parties for friends, taking weekend trips up north, binging whole seasons of TV on lazy Sundays with takeout cartons between them. It felt like adult life was clicking into place.

There were little annoyances, sure. George never quite did his share of the chores, laundry piled up, the sink was always mysteriously full when it was his turn to do the dishes, but he always responded with such good humor when she brought it up. “You’re right, babe. I’ve been slacking. Let me make it up to you.” And for a few weeks, he would. He’d cook dinner twice in a row, vacuum the living room, even reorganize the spice rack. But the effort never lasted, and the pattern always repeated.

He seemed content to coast at work too, doing just enough to avoid criticism but never pushing himself, never talking about promotions or long-term goals. Whenever Lizzie asked about the future, buying a home, maybe moving to a new city, getting married someday, he’d wave it off with a lazy grin. “We’re still young, Liz. What’s the rush?” He’d crack a joke, pour them another glass of wine, and she’d let it slide.

Because for a long time, life was still good. He still made her laugh. Still made her feel beautiful. Still reached for her hand in the car and kissed her forehead when she came home exhausted from school. And maybe this was just how early adulthood was supposed to feel, a little messy, a little uneven. They continued in this pattern until her twenty fifth birthday.

Then her period was late.

At first, she didn’t think much of it. Her cycle had always been a little irregular, stress from work or travel could throw it off by a few days. But as the days ticked by, she started to feel it, the gnawing uncertainty that curled in her stomach, the way her body suddenly felt foreign and unfamiliar. One morning, she stood barefoot on the cold tile of the bathroom floor, staring at the two faint pink lines on the stick in her hand, her heart beating somewhere behind her ribs like a trapped bird.

She told George that night.

He’d just cracked open a beer and was settling onto the couch, remote in hand, when she sat down beside him and said it aloud.

“I’m pregnant.”

There was a pause. Not long or dramatic, but long enough.

“Wow,” he said, blinking, then laughing a little. “Okay. Um. That’s… big news.”

Lizzie smiled tightly, unsure what reaction she’d been hoping for. Relief? Excitement? He didn’t look upset, exactly, just startled and a little dazed.

They spent the next few days pretending everything was fine. George made her breakfast one morning and sent her a meme about “dad life” the next, but underneath the surface, she could feel the shift. He didn’t ask questions. He didn’t touch her belly or talk about the future like it was something they were building together. He still smiled and joked and kissed her cheek, but he wasn’t there, not really.

And Lizzie, who had always trusted her instincts, started to understand something she hadn’t let herself see before. That George was very good at starting things. At making people feel seen. At making things feel easy and fun and full of possibility. But he didn’t stay in the hard parts. He flinched when things got real. He disappeared behind charm and deflection when stakes rose higher than he liked.

They talked, of course. Had long, looping conversations late into the night. George said he loved her. Said he wanted to be a good dad. Said they would figure it out together. And a part of her clung to that, to the boy who once danced with her in the kitchen at midnight and whispered about the life they could build someday.

But then “someday” became now, and Lizzie was the one making doctor’s appointments, researching cribs, and reading parenting blogs. George said he was “processing,” said he needed time, space. He still went out with his friends. Still slept in on Sundays while she vomited quietly in the bathroom and rinsed out the sink before he woke up.

By the time Henry was born, something had quietly fractured between them, something that couldn’t be patched with a bouquet of grocery store flowers or a last-minute dinner reservation. She had brought a life into the world, and George had mostly watched from the sidelines, unsure of where to stand. He held their son in the hospital, and there were tears in his eyes, but he looked less like a man overwhelmed with love and more like someone who didn’t know what to do next.

Lizzie did. She always had.

Lizzie had been terrified, of course, but once Henry was here, squirming and squawking and impossibly small in her arms, something inside her locked into place. She fell in love with him instantly, completely, with the kind of devotion that left no room for half-measures. Her days became a blur of diapers and bottles and bleary-eyed rocking at 3 a.m., but she met every moment with exhausted tenderness.

She read parenting books like they were sacred texts, found a moms’ group at the library, taught herself to swaddle with military precision. She sang to Henry, took him on long walks even when it was freezing, introduced solids with pureed carrots she made from scratch. She was drained, of course, but there was pride in the way she poured herself into it.

George, meanwhile, drifted further and further from their shared life. He still lived in the house, still made appearances, but Lizzie learned quickly not to count on him for the things that mattered. He would come home late from work, claiming he’d lost track of time, or beg off baby duty because he was “just so fried.” On weekends, he disappeared under vague excuses like golf with his dad, drinks with clients, “networking” events that always seemed to end in hangovers and radio silence.

When she asked for help, he’d nod solemnly, apologize, promise to do better. Sometimes he meant it. He’d rally for a week, maybe two, change some diapers, read stories at bedtime while making a show of it. But then he’d slide right back into the background, more roommate than partner. It became easier to do things herself than to ask twice. Easier not to fight. She had a baby to raise.

His parents were a mixed bag. They’d smiled through the baby shower, bought a sleek stroller and posted polished photos of themselves holding Henry at the hospital. But Lizzie always had the sense they liked the idea of a grandchild more than the reality. They rarely offered to babysit, never invited her and Henry over on their own, and always made a point to emphasize how tired George was, how much he had on his plate. There were no outright snubs, just a coolness and an undercurrent of disapproval that Henry had arrived before a ring, before the formalities they seemed to believe made a family legitimate.

Still, Lizzie tried. For a long time, she tried.

Henry turned one in early May. Lizzie made carrot cake cupcakes with cream cheese frosting and decorated the backyard with dollar store streamers. George showed up late, slightly sunburned, smelling faintly of tequila. He kissed her cheek, ruffled Henry’s hair, and disappeared again after the candles were blown out. That night, after enduring far too many disapproving or pitying glances from their friends and family, Lizzie sat in the glider by the window, watching her son sleep, and wondered how long she could keep doing this alone while pretending she wasn’t.

The answer came two weeks later.

She’d left work early. It was a Thursday, unexpectedly sunny, and the staff meeting they were supposed to have had been rescheduled. She stopped for a few groceries and decided to surprise George by picking up his favorite Thai takeout. Maybe they could have dinner as a family for once. Maybe it didn’t have to feel so hard.

The house seemed quiet when she walked in, grocery bag and paper takeout package crinkling against her hip, but a noise from upstairs peaked her interest. She climbed the stairs with her arms still full, not really thinking. The closer she got to the bedroom, the less quiet it became.

Voices filtered through the hallway, laughing, moaning, breathless and high-pitched. The sounds weren’t subtle. They were loud, obscene, and careless. There was music playing too, something with a thudding bass, and the unmistakable creak of the bed frame in rhythmic protest.

Lizzie stopped just outside the door, frozen. She could feel the blood rush to her ears, her heart pounding so loud it almost drowned out everything else. Almost.

She turned the knob and pushed the door open.

And there he was. George. In their bed. With Lydia.

Lydia, who had shown up to the office Christmas party with red lipstick and a nervous smile. Lydia, who laughed too loudly at George’s jokes and looked at him like he hung the stars. Twenty years old, fresh out of community college, and interning at his father’s company.

She just stared at them. Her boyfriend, her son’s father, and this girl she barely knew in the bed where she’d nursed Henry, where she hadn’t had a full night’s sleep in over a year.

They were tangled in the sheets, fully absorbed in each other, moving with the kind of abandon that came from assuming no one would ever walk in on them. Lydia’s head was thrown back, her red manicured nails digging into George’s shoulders. Her laugh, sharp and delighted, cut through the air like a knife.

The takeout bag slipped from Lizzie’s hands and hit the floor with a wet thud, curry spilling across the hardwood.

That was what finally made them look up.

Lydia gasped. George scrambled, stammered her name, grabbed at the sheets like modesty mattered now. But Lizzie just stood there, rooted to the threshold, watching the whole illusion of her life burn away in an instant.

She didn’t scream. She didn’t cry.

She told Lydia to get out.

Then she told George to do the same.

And when the house finally fell silent again, she stood in the wreckage of her hopes and plans and promises, and let herself fall apart.

More specifically, she allowed herself exactly one hour.

One hour to sit on the cold floor of the bedroom, breathing through the sharp tang of spilled curry and betrayal. One hour to cry until her throat hurt and her eyes felt raw. Then she got up, wiped her face, cleaned the green curry and pad Thai off the floor, changed her shirt, and drove to Henry’s daycare with practiced cheer.

“Hi, buddy,” she said brightly as she lifted him into her arms. “Mommy missed you so much today.”

She fed him dinner, let him watch Sesame Street longer than usual, and texted George from the couch with her jaw clenched tight.

Don’t come back to the house tonight. I can’t even think about looking at you.

A reply came almost instantly.

Please Liz. I made a mistake. I’m so sorry.

Exactly how long has this mistake been going on for?

Not long, I swear. It’s over. I ended it as soon as I left the house.

Somehow I don’t believe you. We’re done, George.

There was a pause. Then,

Fine then, be a bitch. I’ll stay at my parents for a few days.

And true to form, he did. No fight, no reckoning. Just disappearance.

Lizzie took a few personal days from work and sank into a gray haze, curling up on the couch with Henry while the world spun without her. She made frozen waffles, let the laundry pile up, and lived in a state of quiet, numbed survival. For a few days, it was just her and Henry, the two of them wrapped in a little cocoon of denial.

Until George’s father rang the doorbell.

To his credit, he looked uncomfortable. He even cleared his throat before speaking, like he wished someone else had come in his place. But the message was clear. If Lizzie and George were really breaking up, then she couldn’t stay in the house indefinitely. It was a family property, and they’d need her to start looking for somewhere else to live.

That jolted her out of the stupor. Her shame burned hotter than her anger.

She called her friend Katie, the same Katie who had dragged her to the cookout all those years ago, who’d met Henry in the hospital and cried right alongside Lizzie. Katie didn’t hesitate. She had an extra bedroom and absolutely no problem with a one-year-old in the house. Lizzie packed up hers and Henry’s things in quiet, exhausted efficiency and moved out.

She took the pullout couch for herself. Henry’s crib went in the second bedroom, and they shared a closet and dresser. It wasn’t glamorous, but it was safe, and it was theirs.

She and George worked out a visitation schedule and agreed on a monthly amount for child support. As angry as she was, Lizzie never once considered keeping Henry from his father. She wished she wasn’t surprised to see that George’s promises came with expiration dates. At first, he showed up. Then he showed up late. Then not at all. Always with an excuse. Always with a reason that made sense if you squinted and didn’t think too hard.

Nearly a year passed in that limbo, Lizzie juggling work, toddlerhood, and the heaviness of a life that felt like it had cracked down the middle. As far as she knew, George had moved Lydia right into the house six months later. Katie was kind, supportive, and generous, but Lizzie still felt like a guest in someone else’s home. A weight. An imposition.

One night, after George had bailed on another weekend visit and Henry had thrown a fit in the grocery store that left Lizzie nearly in tears herself, she called her mom. She didn’t even mean to, not really. She just needed a voice that knew her whole life story. She vented, rambling and breathless, about how tired she was, how nothing felt stable, how she was doing everything she could and it still never felt like enough.

Her mother listened quietly. Then she said,

“Why don’t you just come home?”

Lizzie blinked.

“Come... home?”

It had never occurred to her that was even an option. Not really. Not with everything that had happened. Not after everything she’d tried to build.

But the suggestion hung in the air, and for the first time in a long time, Lizzie let herself imagine what it might feel like to stop treading water.

She talked to Katie, who gave her a long, understanding hug and promised that the couch would always be there if she ever needed it again. Then she called George. He had surprisingly little to say about the idea of his son moving three and a half hours away from him. No protests, no real questions. Just a vague, “Yeah, I guess that makes sense,” followed by something about how work had been crazy lately.

Lizzie, even now, made sure to do things right. She told him she would honor whatever visitation schedule they agreed on, and she’d be happy to meet him halfway for drop-offs and pickups. George agreed, distracted, like she was asking if he could bring chips to a party.

So, she rented a small U-Haul trailer and hooked it up to her Subaru stuffed full to the brim with their life in boxes, mostly Henry’s things, she had little to her name but clothes, books, and a few pieces of furniture.

And then she drove north.

To Loon Cove.

The little lake town just south of the Leelanau Peninsula where her family had lived for generations. A place she had once longed to escape and now returned to like a ship steering toward safe harbor.

The farther she got from Detroit, the more the ache in her chest loosened. The freeway gave way to two-lane highways, then tree-lined roads winding through pine forests and farmland. Henry napped in his car seat with his stuffed fox tucked beneath his chin, and Lizzie glanced at him in the rearview mirror, a lump rising in her throat. They were really doing this.

With each passing mile, she felt her shoulders sink a little lower, her breath come a little easier. The tension she was carrying started to unspool from her spine. She rolled the windows down as she neared town, letting in the crisp northern air and the faint scent of pine and lake water.

Home.

She passed Sherrie’s Diner where she worked all through high school, the beach where she’d learned to swim, the faded library where she’d spent summers devouring books. And when she turned down the narrow lane to her parent’s house, a white clapboard farmhouse with a wide porch and flower boxes her mother kept overflowing in the summer months, Lizzie felt something in her chest give way.

Her dad, David, came out to meet her, arms wide and eyes misty, and her mom, Fran stood on the porch waving her hands excitedly. Henry blinked awake as they unbuckled him, his curls sticking to his forehead, and gave a sleepy smile as he was scooped up into his grandfather’s arms.

They were home.

Lizzie stood for a moment beside the car, sun warming her face, and allowed herself one long, quiet breath.

It had been a hard first summer, a little messy and full of growing pains, but there had also been joy. Lizzie started working part time at Jane’s café to avoid draining her savings, wanting to contribute something while she lived at home. Her parents hadn’t asked her for rent, but the weight of being twenty-seven, newly single, and moving back into her childhood bedroom stung in a way she hadn’t expected. She compensated by overextending herself. She folded laundry that wasn’t hers. She loaded the dishwasher before anyone could beat her to it. She tiptoed through the house at night like a guest in someone else's home.

One afternoon in July, while Lizzie wiped down the kitchen counters for the third time that day, Fran placed two iced teas on the table and gently motioned for her to sit.

“Why do you think we told you to come back home, honey?” she said. “We want to help you. You just have to let us.”

Lizzie blinked down at her tea, the ice clinking against the glass. Something in her chest cracked open a little. After that, things got easier, and for the rest of her time at home, she accepted as much help as she could.

Henry flourished. He was delighted to be the center of his grandparents’ world, especially his Papa, who became his shadow and guide, letting him follow around the pole barn and hand him tools like a little apprentice. He ran barefoot through the grass and asked a thousand questions a day and fell asleep each night with dirt under his fingernails and a contented sigh. Seeing him happy made everything worth it.

When fall came and no full-time teaching job materialized, Lizzie started subbing in the local school district. The work was inconsistent, but she kept showing up. Then, a long-term maternity leave turned into something more permanent when the English teacher decided not to return. Lizzie interviewed and, to her great relief, was offered the position. The steady paycheck and the familiarity of the classroom gave her a sense of direction again. She even started doing photography again, which she had loved in high school, but had abandoned somewhere along the way, and on the side she started photographing weddings, family portraits, and all sorts of other special occasions.

She reconnected with old friends from high school. There was Charlotte, who did hair at the salon on Main Street and gave practical life advice with a blunt kindness that Lizzie had missed, Mary, the high school band director, with whom she teamed up to co-direct the spring musical, and Charlie, who had somehow gotten even kinder and more golden retriever-like since moving home and reuniting with Jane. For the first time in what felt like forever, Lizzie had a village. She had people to call, coffee to grab, jokes to share, and stories to tell. Henry had a yard to run in, snow to stomp through, and lakeshore sand to dig up with his tiny fists.

It took two years of saving, hustling, and dreaming. But now, here she was. In her own house. Her name on the mortgage. Her son’s room waiting for him down the hall. Her life, messy and imperfect, finally feeling like it belonged to her again.

She smiled up into the dark, the sheets soft and cool around her. The house creaked a little with the settling night, but she felt safe here. Grounded.

Of course, there was still George.

For about a year, he’d played the part of a devoted long-distance father. Biweekly FaceTimes. Weekend visits. He was polite but stiff whenever they exchanged Henry, and Lizzie had held onto a sliver of hope that maybe the separation had knocked some sense into him. But unsurprisingly, it didn’t last. Calls were missed, visits canceled, excuses made. And Henry, so bright and perceptive, had started to ask questions Lizzie couldn’t answer.

Where’s Daddy?
Why didn’t he come this time?
Did I do something wrong?

He was too young to understand and too old to be spared the hurt. And Lizzie, caught in a web of guilt and fury, had finally told George that things had to change. That Henry wasn’t a weekend hobby. That showing up occasionally wasn’t enough. That he could either be a parent or not, but she wouldn’t let him keep hurting their son with his inconsistency.

Whether he listened or not remained to be seen.

But for now, Lizzie closed her eyes and let herself rest. For the first time in a long time, the future didn’t feel like a looming storm. It felt like something she might build brick by brick, into something solid.

Into something good.

Tomorrow, there would be more to do. Always.
But tonight, in her own bed, in her own home, Lizzie let herself simply be.
And finally, she slept.

Chapter Text

Lizzie woke the next morning feeling more human than she had in days. She stretched languidly beneath the soft cotton sheets, her toes curling into the edge of the mattress as she blinked against the sunlight streaming in.

She rubbed her eyes and reached blindly for her phone on the nightstand, unplugging it from its charging chord. It was just after seven thirty, and the morning sky was bright blue.

There was already a text from her mom, who was a notoriously early riser.

 Good morning honey! Henry had a great night last night. He’s still sleeping like a log! I just wanted to make sure that you still wanted us to bring him home at 5:00.

Lizzie typed back a response.

Morning Mom! 5:00 still works great, thanks!

It didn’t take long for her mom to reply.

How goes unpacking?

Not too bad! Henry’s room is all done. Today I’ll tackle my room, office, and try to get a start on the built in’s.

Well let me know if you need any help!

I will, I promise! See you tonight! Give Henry a kiss for me.

With that, Lizzie tossed off the covers and stood, her bare feet hitting the cool hardwood floor. She pulled on a pair of old running shorts and a faded Michigan State t-shirt that had been washed into oblivion. Her hair went into a quick ponytail, and she made a beeline for the kitchen, grateful she had thought to stock up on a few basics earlier in the week, coffee, milk, eggs, bread, and a couple frozen meals to tide her over until she could make a real grocery run with Henry tomorrow.

As the coffee brewed, she stood in the doorway between the kitchen and the main living area, surveying the state of the house. The closets, bathrooms, and kitchen were already neatly organized thanks to Fran Bennet, who had swept through like a benevolent hurricane the week before. With her tote bags and labeled bins, drawer inserts, and a caddy of cleaning supplies, Fran had declared herself the “moving day fairy” and whipped the practical spaces into shape in under four hours. Lizzie had no notes.

That left the living room, her bedroom, and her office.

Her room would be easy. It was mostly just clothes to hang up and small things to shelve. The living room would take a little longer. She already knew she’d rearrange the built-in shelves a dozen times over the next few months with books, picture frames, candles, and little pieces of pottery she’d collected from roadside antique shops over the years. But for today, she wanted to start with her favorite space in the house.

After her second cup of coffee and a quick breakfast of scrambled eggs, she padded barefoot toward the little yellow sunroom tucked at the back of the house that she’d designated as her office.

The room glowed in the morning light. With its wraparound windows, honey-colored floors, and high shelves, it had been one of the main selling points for her. Lizzie had known the second she saw it that this was where she would work. Where she’d grade essays, write recommendation letters, answer school emails, and, more importantly, where she’d edit photos, store her equipment, and finally give her photography business the professional home it deserved.

The desk was already in place, a lovely old piece of dark wood she’d found at an estate sale the previous fall. She moved with purpose now, unpacking boxes one by one, assigning a drawer for school papers, another for printer supplies, one for pens and notebooks. There might have only been three weeks left in the school year, but Lizzie didn’t exactly fancy grading final papers in a warzone, so each box she emptied calmed her nerves like nothing else.

The real joy came when she turned to the heavy canvas bag labeled CAMERA GEAR. Her Nikon was the first thing she pulled out, its weight comforting in her hands. Then came the lenses, carefully packaged in foam, her favorite 85mm prime, the all-purpose zoom, and the dreamy wide-angle she’d splurged on last fall. She unwrapped them carefully, inspecting each one, wiping them down before placing them in the storage cubby she’d cleared just for this purpose.

There were flash kits, extra batteries, chargers, memory cards, reflectors, and lens cloths. She arranged them all with precision, labeling boxes and drawers, setting up her editing monitor on the desk beside her laptop.

It was a ritual, and one that reminded her just how far she’d come.

Photography had always been a love of hers, ever since high school, when she used to borrow her dad’s old film camera and rope Jane into posing in the backyard in thrifted vintage dresses. But it wasn’t until she’d moved back north, desperate for something creative to throw herself into, that she’d started taking it seriously again.

The first real job had come unexpectedly. A friend of her mom’s had called in a panic when her photographer canceled last-minute for a family portrait session. She asked if Lizzie might consider stepping in. Lizzie had said yes, mostly out of sympathy, but the session had gone well. Better than she could’ve imagined. She remembered how it felt, watching the family laugh together through her lens, capturing something sweet and genuine.

From there, word spread. A senior session here, a newborn shoot there, and what had started off as a fun side gig to bring in a little extra money had grown into a full-blown second job. Now, two years later, she had a full summer calendar, seven weddings, countless couples, families, and tiny babies on soft blankets. With Katie’s help, she had a sleek website, a functioning booking system, and packages that looked professional enough to compete in the saturated northern Michigan market.

Lizzie sat back on her heels, surveying the now unpacked office with a sense of pride. She took a deep breath, relieved to cross one more thing off her to-do list.

With her office officially unpacked and humming with potential, Lizzie dusted her hands off on her shorts and decided it was time to face the bedroom.

She grabbed a glass of water and climbed the stairs to the primary bedroom. The room was sunny and warm, with soft beams of late morning light stretching across the hardwood floor. A half-unpacked suitcase sat on the bench at the foot of the bed. Several boxes were still stacked along the wall beneath the windows, one of which sat open, trailing a scarf over the edge like it had been trying to escape.

She turned on some music, something mellow, with a little rhythm to keep her moving, and got to work.

First, the clothes. She opened the larger of the wardrobe boxes and began transferring things onto hangers, mostly just blouses, dresses, and her teaching cardigans. Some pieces she hadn’t worn in ages, but couldn’t quite part with yet. She folded jeans and sweaters into drawers, stacking them by type.

The closet was small, but the shelves above were tall and deep, perfect for storing the off-season pieces and the clothes she used for photo shoots

Next came the boxes marked BEDROOM - MISC. She opened one and laughed softly. Inside was her jewelry box, a framed photo of her and Jane on a beach trip from college, and a tiny ceramic dish shaped like a lemon that had somehow survived college apartments and a toddler. She set the photos on her nightstand, nestled the lemon dish on top of the dresser, and hung a string of brass bells she’d bought at a little boutique in Traverse City last fall on the inside doorknob of her closet.

She layered the pale blue quilt her grandmother had made on top of her fluffy cream duvet. She plumped the pillows and smoothed the corners with a sigh.

She found her bedside reading stack in the next box. Three dog-eared novels, a volume of Mary Oliver poems, and a notebook she used for jotting down quotes or thoughts in the middle of the night. She placed them on the little table by the lamp, along with a bottle of lotion and her favorite sleep mask.

By noon, she had broken down most of the boxes, tucked them into the garage for recycling, and changed into a fresh pair of jeans and a tank top. Her room was done.

Lizzie headed into the living room with a burst of energy, still barefoot and humming along with the music playing from her phone.

The living room was the largest space in the house, and the one she’d been most excited to decorate, mostly because she could already picture Henry sprawled on the rug building cities out of blocks, or curled against her side on movie nights, half-asleep with a bowl of popcorn in his lap.

The layout was mostly in place already. Her couch, cushy, low-slung, and proudly secondhand, sat in the center of the room facing the fireplace, upholstered in a blue-and-white gingham that made it feel like summer all year long. It had taken a lot of maneuvering to get it through the front door, but she’d refused to part with it. Too many good naps, demanded to be had on it.

The armchairs flanking either side were recent additions, oversized, slipcovered in a soft cream fabric, and ridiculously comfortable. She’d scored them on Facebook Marketplace for a fraction of what they were worth, from someone in one of the newer, fancier neighborhoods by Little Loon Lake. The woman had looked her up and down and asked if she was buying them for a rental property. Lizzie had smiled sweetly and told her they’d be going in her home. And now they sat exactly as she’d imagined, flanked by floor to ceiling built ins.

She tugged the slipcovers into place, fluffed the pillows, and unrolled the wool rug she’d stored in the hall closet. It was faded in places, but beautifully patterned, a mix of muted blues, rust, and cream, and she loved the way it looked in the room.

From there, it was small things, stacking her coffee table books in neat piles, arranging the framed photos that always made a house feel lived in. There was one of Henry in a sun hat, laughing mid-splash in the kiddie pool. One of her, Jane, and Charlotte at a vineyard last fall, wine-stained smiles and sunglasses askew. A black-and-white shot she’d taken of her late grandmother’s hands clasped in her lap on a Sunday morning.

She leaned her favorite framed print, a moody, abstract lake scene, over the fireplace, then stood back, hands on her hips, assessing the space.

It wasn’t perfect. The built-ins still needed organizing, and the TV hadn’t even made it out of its box in the corner, but it was a good start. And with the afternoon turning into evening and her body tired in the good way that comes from making something out of nothing, Lizzie felt settled.

Not quite finished, but close.

And that was more than enough for one day.

The sound of a car door closing alerted Lizzie to the time, and she opened the front door to the familiar sight of her mom’s red minivan. She leaned against the porch railing as the back door slid open.

“Hey Mom!” A delighted shout rang out, and there he was. Her boy. Henry unbuckled himself from his car seat and he jumped out of the van, his sneakered feet thumping against the pavement, curls bouncing, and a grin stretched wide across his face. Lizzie knelt in the grass just in time to catch him in her arms as he bounded into her. He smelled like sunscreen and peanut butter, and she pressed a kiss into his curls, which were more wild than usual after a day at Grammy and Papa’s.

“Hi buddy!” She laughed, holding him close. “Did you have fun?”

“Yeah!” He said breathlessly, “Papa helped me build a cata-pull!”

“A catapult? Of course he did.” Lizzie said, glancing up with a bemused smile as her father stepped out of the passenger side. David Bennet offered her a small smile and a nod of greeting before walking around to the back of the car and grabbing Henry’s overnight bag in one hand and two foil wrapped casserole dishes in the other.

“We brought you some lasagna,” Fran called, already striding up the path with her ever-present tote slung over one arm. “And don’t worry, I made a double batch so you’ll have plenty to freeze. Honestly, Lizzie, I don’t know how you’ve been eating properly during this move.”

“I’ve survived on scrambled eggs and coffee,” Lizzie admitted, watching Henry run ahead as they all made their way into the house.

“Oh, wow! You’ve gotten a lot done today.” Fran exclaimed as they stepped inside. David went into the kitchen to put the lasagna in the oven to bake, while her mom walked around, examining Lizzie’s progress. “So cute, honey. And those armchairs! Are those the ones from the Facebook listing you sent me?”

Lizzie nodded vigorously. “They are.”

“I’m telling you, if you ever decide you want to go into interiors full-time, you let me know. We could start a mother-daughter staging business.”

Lizzie laughed, shaking her head.

“I think two jobs is enough for me at the moment.”

Behind her, David returned from the kitchen and gave Lizzie’s shoulder a brief, warm squeeze. “House looks good, kid,” he said simply. “You’ve done well.”

That quiet pride in his voice made Lizzie’s throat tighten. Her dad didn’t say much, but when he did, it landed.

Henry came running back downstairs, talking a mile a minute about his new room, how cool it was, and how it had all the best toys in it. He ran just as quickly to the back door, where he pointed out the exact spot he wanted to build his play fort. Fran and Lizzie stood watching him, chuckling at the little boy’s enthusiasm.

“He was bouncing off the walls waiting to get here tonight,” Fran said softly. “You’re doing such a good job with him. It’s fantastic that he’ll have this home to grow up in.”

Lizzie swallowed a sudden lump in her throat and just nodded. “Thanks, Mom.”

Henry darted back into the room and tugged on Lizzie’s hand. “Can I take Papa to the backyard now? I need help planning my fort.”

“You sure can,” Lizzie said, already grinning.

David gave her a small nod and followed Henry out through the sliding glass door, the screen clicking shut behind them.

Fran settled into one of the cream armchairs and pulled a notebook out of her tote. “Now. Tell me everything. What’s your grocery list looking like for tomorrow? And are you absolutely certain you don’t want me to introduce you to that nice man from the car dealership?”

“The tall one who worked on your van? I thought you said he had a lazy eye.”

Fran shrugged her shoulders, “Well he did a very good job on my alternator. He must be handy. Maybe you could just get him to wear sunglasses?”

Lizzie rolled her eyes fondly and headed toward the kitchen. “Let me get you some water before you start trying to set me up, I beg you.”

“Fine,” Fran said brightly. “But just so you know, he has dimples.”

From the yard came the sound of Henry’s delighted laughter and David’s low, steady voice trying to puzzle out what Henry meant when he said he wanted a “pirate ship rocket fort”. Inside, Lizzie poured water over clinking ice, trying not to giggle at the confused look on his face from outside the kitchen window.

After David and Fran left with promises to return soon, Lizzie and Henry spent the evening exploring the backyard together. They played with an old bubble wand Lizzie had stashed in the garage, then sat side by side in the dining room, eating the lasagna her parents brought over.

“Hey mom,” Henry said solemnly as he swung his legs. “This house is really, really big.” He looked up at her with wide eyes, his mouth and cheeks splattered with red sauce. Lizzie moved their plates into the kitchen sink, wetting down a cloth on her way back.

Lizzie wiped his face down and smiled. “It feels big now, but we’ll fill it up. We already started today, didn’t we?”

Henry considered this. “You put the books in my shelf. And the animals. And you said I can put my dino stickers on the closet door.”

“Exactly,” she said. “And tomorrow, we’ll go get groceries and find your favorite cereal again. You’ll see, it’ll feel like home before you know it.”

That answer seemed to satisfy Henry, and after he finished his dinner, Lizzie let him take a long bath while she unpacked one last box in the hallway. She could hear him narrating an epic adventure between a shark and a plastic toy dinosaur and felt a swell of emotion fill her chest.

By eight, Henry was in his pajamas and wandering around his new room with Lizzie close behind him.

He paused in front of the dresser.

“It smells different in here,” he said softly.

Lizzie nodded, kneeling beside him. “New paint and new floors. But your pillow smells the same. And your jammies.”

He smiled faintly at that and walked over to the bed, climbing in slowly. Lizzie sat on the edge beside him and tucked the covers up under his arms. She could see it in his eyes, he was trying to be brave, but the newness of it all had caught up with him.

“Mom?” he said, his voice small.

“Yeah, buddy?”

“We’ll still go to Grammy and Papa’s house a lot right?”

Her heart gave a little tug. Her parent’s house was really the main home he’d known as long as he could remember. “We will,” she promised, brushing the curls from his forehead, “and Grammy and Papa will come over here a lot too. This will be our own place though, and you won’t have to worry about knocking over any of Grammy’s knick knacks here.”

He thought this over, then nodded. Still, he bit his bottom lip and looked around the room. “I think I forgot to pack Foxie.”

“Nope,” Lizzie said, bending over. “Foxie’s right here.” She pulled the beloved, well-loved stuffed fox from where it had fallen onto the floor and handed it over.

He clutched it immediately and settled back into the pillows, the stiffness in his shoulders relaxing at once.

“Thanks, Mom.”

“Anytime.”

She turned on the nightlight by the window and sat with him a few more minutes as his eyelids grew heavy. He kept one hand curled around her thumb, the other tucked under Foxie’s belly.

When she finally rose to go, he was already breathing deep and slow, his little face relaxed in sleep.

With Henry asleep and the house finally still, Lizzie tiptoed down the hallway, careful to avoid the one floorboard she’d already discovered creaked like a cannon when stepped on. The night had settled in quietly, quiet enough that she could hear the faint chirping of tree crickets through the open hall window.

She paused in the hallway and stretched her arms overhead, her spine giving a satisfying little crack as she yawned. “Alright,” she murmured to herself. “Now it’s your turn.”

In her room, she swapped her running shorts and t-shirt for an old, soft pajama set, before heading into the kitchen to start tidying the small number of dishes that had accumulated during the day. She rinsed plates, forks, her coffee mug, and a half-empty juice cup with little orange fingerprints still on the rim, then rewrapped the lasagna dish to store in the fridge. Soon the dishwasher was humming, and she wiped down the counters in slow, familiar motions, catching sight of her reflection in the dark kitchen window, bare-faced and tired.

By the time she turned out the kitchen light, the stars were out and the moon had risen above the trees. Lizzie wandered into the living room, flicked on a small lamp, plugged the TV in where it sat on a stand in the corner, and finally sat down on her checked couch with a long sigh.

“Moment of truth,” she whispered, grabbing the remote. She’d had the TV in her room at her parent’s house but hadn’t had time to test out the new streaming stick. Miraculously, it booted right up, and she scrolled through the apps until she found exactly what she needed.

Anne of Green Gables.

The opening music swelled and Lizzie curled up with a quilt, one leg tucked under her, the other stretched across the rest of the couch. She let the familiar characters sweep her away.

She watched for a while before pausing it right after Gilbert rescued Anne from the river.

With a sleepy smile, Lizzie rose and shuffled to the bathroom to do her skincare routine. It was nothing elaborate, just a few small steps she did every night, cleanser, toner, serum, and moisturizer. She massaged the cream into her cheeks with care, studying her face in the mirror, noting the circles under her eyes, the freckles on the bridge of her nose, the way her mouth turned up slightly even when she wasn’t smiling.

She suddenly felt tired to her bones, in a fantastic way, but at the same time she felt like she could sleep for a million years.

When she finally crawled into bed, it was with a kind of grateful heaviness. The sheets were cool, the fan hummed gently above her, and the air smelled faintly of lavender from the pillow spray she liked to use. She glanced at her phone one more time, checking for new messages, then set it down, rolled to her side, and closed her eyes.

The next morning began with a thump.

Not an alarming one, just the unmistakable thud of four-year-old feet hitting the floor with purpose. Lizzie blinked awake, stretched, and listened for a moment. Sure enough, she heard the creak of the door, and then—

“Mommmmmm!”

She grinned. “Come on in, buddy.”

Henry barreled into the room with the kind of energy only a freshly rested child could summon. He launched himself onto the bed in a pile of wavy brown hair and giggled.

“Mom, I dreamed we had a dragon in the backyard! But it was a nice dragon, and he cooked us waffles with his fire breath.”

“Sounds delicious and slightly dangerous,” Lizzie said, catching him in her arms and pulling him in for a tickle. “Did he eat any waffles himself?”

“No, he was a dragon. Dragons eat fire.” He looked at her like she should have known this already.

“Of course,” Lizzie said solemnly. “Silly me.”

They stayed like that for a few minutes, just tangled up in blankets, laughing and whispering dream stories, Lizzie pressing kisses into Henry’s temple as he wiggled happily beside her. Eventually, though, practicality called.

“Alright, my little dragon rider. Up and at ’em. We’ve got groceries to conquer!”

Henry sat bolt upright. “Can I push the little cart? The kid one?”

“If you promise not to use it like a bumper car.”

“I mostly promise.”

“That’ll have to do,” she said, tousling his hair.

After a quick breakfast, Lizzie got them both dressed. Henry chose his favorite blue shirt with the astronaut on it and mismatched socks, something he was oddly proud of. Lizzie pulled her hair into a ponytail, threw on jeans and a navy blue t-shirt, and packed their reusable grocery bags into the car.

The grocery store was just ten minutes away, but Henry managed to ask at least seven questions during the drive, including but not limited to, “Can we get a watermelon the size of my head?”

They navigated the store like a well-rehearsed team. Henry insisted on finding the bananas, “Not the green ones, the yellow ones, but not too yellow”, reminded her they needed yogurt, and begged for dinosaur-shaped chicken nuggets, which Lizzie begrudgingly agreed to because, well, he had eaten all of his dinner last night.

Back home, after groceries were put away and lunch devoured, Lizzie opened the back door to the yard and watched as Henry raced outside, arms stretched wide.

“This is the perfect yard for dragon games!” he shouted over his shoulder as he tore barefoot across the soft grass.

Lizzie followed him out, her Birkenstocks crunching gently on the gravel path that led from the patio to the garden beds. The late morning sun was warm on her shoulders, and the trees at the back of the yard rustled softly in the breeze.

“Catch me, Mom!” Henry called.

“Oh, you don’t want me to do that,” she said, eyes narrowing playfully. “Because if I catch you… I’ll tickle you until you snort!”

He shrieked and ran faster. Lizzie took off after him, laughing as they weaved around the raised flower beds and the old maple tree at the edge of the lawn. She let him get a head start, then scooped him up mid-giggle and spun him in a circle.

“You’re so fast,” she said, breathless. “Did you grow running legs overnight?”

Henry beamed, cheeks flushed. “I think I did.”

They eventually collapsed onto the grass together, both of them red-faced and laughing, staring up at the clouds.

“That one looks like a pancake,” Henry said.

“No,” Lizzie replied, shading her eyes. “That one looks like your dragon.”

“Maybe he followed us from the dream.”

She turned her head and looked at her son. His cheeks were still round and baby-like, but he said things that amazed her sometimes.

Lizzie pulled some more of Henry’s toys out of the small, detached garage, and they spent the next little while playing in the yard.

Once Henry was a little tired out, Lizzie grabbed him some crayons and a coloring book from the craft bin in the front closet. After getting him set up, she cleaned up lunch, watching him from the open kitchen window.

Henry sat cross-legged at his small plastic picnic table, the one she’d picked up at a garage sale last summer. He was deep in concentration, tongue poking out slightly as he worked on a dinosaur scene.

Lizzie rinsed a plate and set it on the drying rack, then leaned on the counter for a moment, watching him through the window with a soft smile. His hair was mussed from running around, and the knees of his sweatpants were covered in grass stains. Evry so often he would pause and examine his page, before carefully selecting the next color he wanted.

It was peaceful. Almost startlingly so, after months of upheaval. The move, the renovations, balancing work and single motherhood and trying to remember if she’d paid the electric bill on time, it had all been a blur. Now though, with the house coming together and summer just around the corner, Lizzie felt like she had a lot to look forward to.

That moment of calm was interrupted when the side gate creaked open and the unmistakable figure of Mrs. Catherine De Bourg appeared at the edge of the yard.

Lizzie’s eyes narrowed slightly in preparation. Mrs. De Bourg was formidable even in capri slacks and gardening gloves, with a white bob that defied weather and a posture that suggested she’d been a ballet mistress or a fencing instructor in another life. She lived next door in a sprawling brick colonial with perfect window boxes and a lawn so precise it could have been laser-cut.

Mrs. De Bourg had, on three separate occasions, stopped by during construction to inquire whether the “jackhammering” would be “continuing indefinitely,” and once asked if Lizzie might ask her delivery drivers not to park in front of her mailbox. Lizzie had mostly smiled politely and apologized. And then hid every time she saw her gardening in the side yard.

She wiped her hands on a dish towel, opened the back door, and stepped out onto the patio just as the older woman approached the low fence that separated their yards.

“Mrs. De Bourg,” Lizzie greeted, voice sunny but careful. “Lovely afternoon.”

“It would be lovelier,” Mrs. De Bourg replied crisply, “if I wasn’t still finding nails in my flowerbeds.”

Lizzie blinked. “Oh. I’m so sorry—I’ll come over later and check. I can have Henry help me look.”

Mrs. De Bourg gave Henry a quick glance. “Is that child drawing on furniture?”

Lizzie followed her gaze to the plastic table. “Just paper today. And some of the table, probably, but it’s washable.”

The older woman sniffed, her attention shifting to the house behind Lizzie. “And is it finished?”

“The construction? Yes—well, mostly. Some touch-ups inside, but the crews are done.”

“I see.” She glanced at the roofline, at the newly painted trim. “It looks… surprisingly well done.”

“Thank you,” Lizzie said cautiously, unsure whether it was a compliment or the beginning of another complaint.

“I’m sure the quiet will be an adjustment for you after so much commotion.”

Lizzie gave a little laugh. “I think we’re ready for it.”

There was a pause. Then, unexpectedly, Mrs. De Bourg leaned against the fence a bit and nodded toward a burst of early peonies in Lizzie’s garden bed. “Those are Sarah Bernhardts.”

Lizzie perked up. “They are! I’ve never grown them before, but my mom swears by them.”

“They’ll need staking soon. And water. If the heat continues, they’ll wilt.”

Lizzie nodded quickly. “I’ll keep an eye on them. Your garden is gorgeous, by the way.”

Mrs. De Bourg did not smile, exactly, but the corner of her mouth twitched. “Well. One does what one can.”

With that, she turned crisply on her heel and disappeared through the side gate, leaving Lizzie standing on the porch with her eyebrows raised and Henry yelling “Bye, garden lady!”

Lizzie laughed, shook her head, and went to sit on the edge of the table beside him. “I think we might be winning her over,” she murmured.

Henry looked up from his drawing. “Is she a dragon, too?”

“No, sweetheart,” Lizzie said with a grin, brushing a lock of hair off his forehead. “But I think she might have a secret treasure hoard of tulips.”

That evening after Henry had polished off his favorite dinner, mac and cheese with apple slices, he sat curled up on the living room rug, watching Bluey with his stuffed fox tucked tightly under one arm.

Lizzie leaned in the doorway for a moment, watching him. His eyes were wide with concentration, thumb absentmindedly rubbing at the soft edge of the fox’s tail. There was something so small about him right then. She crossed over to the couch and sank into it with a sigh, stretching her legs before glancing at the time.

“Alright, my guy,” she said gently. “Bluey’s almost over. Then it’s bath, books, and bed.”

Henry looked up with a frown and rubbed his eyes. “Can I skip bath tonight?” he asked, voice a little hoarse.

Lizzie tilted her head. “Are you feeling okay?”

He shrugged and sniffled. “My throat feels scratchy. Just... like there’s something poking me.”

She reached over and pressed a hand to his forehead. No fever. Still, she gave him a spoonful of kids’ acetaminophen from the bathroom cabinet, let him pick out a couple of picture books, and helped him into his pajamas early.

By the time he was tucked under the covers, fox securely in his arms, Lizzie was reading in a soft voice, smoothing his hair as she went. He was asleep before the last page.

She lingered for a moment after turning off the light, brushing her fingers over his curls. “Sleep tight, baby,” she whispered, quietly pulling the door almost closed behind her.

Down the hall, she began the end-of-night rituals with practiced ease. She changed into her pajamas, then tied her hair into a bun and started packing her school bag. She loaded up her grading folders, her laptop,  and a clean travel mug. She double-checked Henry’s preschool backpack too. She threw in a snack, his water bottle and a couple of cough drops. Just in case his throat still felt funny in the morning.

Her mind flicked briefly to her lesson plans for the week ahead. The school year was wrapping up, and the seniors only had a week left. It would be busy as they all prepared for final exams.

She flipped the lights off room by room, then, with her nighttime routine done, Lizzie went to bed.

Her alarm buzzed at 6:15 the next morning, but Lizzie had already been half awake for ten minutes listening to the steady sound of rain hitting the roof. She didn’t know if she slept so much as drifted in and out of consciousness all night. She crawled out of bed and into the bathroom, where she brushed her teeth drowsily and turned the knob on the shower. She didn’t have quite enough time to wash and blow dry her hair, so she piled her hair up, careful to keep it from the spray of the shower head, and let the hot water wake her up a little.

After she was clean and dry, she sprayed a little dry shampoo in her hair before twisting it into a clip for the day. She put her makeup on, using a little extra concealer under her eyes to hide the remnants of such a busy few days, and went into her closet to pull out some work clothes. She tugged on a pair of tan slacks and a floral blouse before finally going into Henry’s room to wake him up. He was still curled up beneath his sheets, sleeping heavily.

“Buddy,” she said gently, brushing his hair back. “Time to wake up.”

He stirred, blinked, and stretched his arms above his head. “I don’t wanna,” he mumbled, voice thick and groggy.

Lizzie pressed the back of her hand to his forehead again. Still no fever, but he definitely sounded worse. “You’re sounding a little more froggy this morning. How does your throat feel?”

Henry considered. “It still pokes me a little. But I feel okay. Can I still go to school?”

She studied him. His cheeks were slightly flushed, but he was alert and already swinging his legs over the side of the bed. “Are you sure?”

He nodded, hopping to the floor. “We’re having pizza bagels for lunch today, and my teacher said we’re finishing show-and-tell from last week last week.”

Lizzie hesitated. If he had a fever or looked worse, she wouldn’t think twice about keeping him home, but he didn’t, and she didn’t have any more personal days to spare. Between moving, painting, contractor delays, and a preschool field trip that required all hands on deck, her time off had vanished faster than she realized, which she hadn’t cared about so close to the end of the school year, but she didn’t plan on Henry getting sick.

“Okay,” she said at last. “But if you feel worse, you tell your teacher. And I’ll keep my phone right next to me. Promise.”

By the time she got Henry dressed and down to the kitchen where he picked at a bowl of cereal, the morning had gained speed. Lizzie scrambled to finish getting them both ready. She had meant to iron her blouse last night but forgot about it, and now it wrinkled under her cardigan, and her coffee was already going cold.

“Shoes on, baby,” she called out while zipping up Henry’s backpack. “I’m going to grab your water bottle.”

“Fox wants to come too,” he declared as he shoved his little feet into his Velcro sneakers. “He wants to see the pizza bagels.”

“Fox can come for the car ride but has to stay in the backpack at school, okay?”

“Okay,” Henry agreed.

They made it out the door by 7:45, later than she liked, but not a disaster. Henry chatted from the back seat about a bug he saw on the windowsill and how his friend Olivia had a sparkly purple crayon. Lizzie nodded and offered “wow”s and “really?”s, glancing at him in the rearview mirror every few seconds.

His eyes were bright, but she still wasn’t sure.

Still, she was banking on this just being a cold. No fever. No real complaints. Just a Monday.

As she pulled into the preschool drop-off loop and put the car in park, she glanced in her rearview mirror to look at him again. “Last chance to go home with me.”

“I’m okay, Mommy,” he said firmly, unbuckling his seatbelt and grabbing his backpack.

Lizzie twisted back in her seat, smiling at him. “Okay. Have the best day, alright? I love you so much.”

“Love you too!” he grinned. “Tell Fox I said bye!”

She watched him disappear into the building, his backpack bouncing against his raincoat as he ran to catch up with the line. Lizzie sat still for a moment, her hands on the steering wheel, listening to the windshield wipers thump back and forth.

Then she exhaled, shifted the car into drive, and headed toward work.

Lizzie made it to school with a solid sixty seconds to spare, juggling her bag and keys while trying not to spill the travel mug she’d hastily filled. She’d barely dropped her keys in her desk drawer when the first bell rang.

Her day was full, but Lizzie kept glancing at her phone every free moment she got. There were no messages from the preschool, and no missed calls. She told herself that it was a good sign. Henry had seemed okay this morning. Tired, sure. A little flushed. But he’d insisted he wanted to go to school, and she didn’t have the luxury of staying home unless absolutely necessary.

When the final bell rang, she packed up her things quickly and headed out, stopping by the preschool down the block where Henry’s class let out. From across the parking lot, she spotted him on the bench near the door, his chin tucked to his chest and his arms wrapped around his backpack, looking small and pale.

Lizzie’s stomach dropped, and she hurried over to him.

“Hi, buddy,” she said softly, kneeling in front of him. “How was your day?”

He looked up at her with glassy eyes, his cheeks pink and blotchy, and gave a faint shrug.

“My throat hurts bad,” he said hoarsely. “And my tummy feels weird.”

She touched his forehead. He was warm. Warmer than this morning.

“Okay,” she said gently, walking him to the car and helping him into the car seat with extra care. “We’re going to figure this out.”

Once they were buckled in, Lizzie called Charlie.

“Hey, Liz,” Charlie answered on the second ring, upbeat as ever. “What’s going on?”

“Hey, sorry to bug you. I think Henry’s really sick, his throat is killing him, he’s flushed, says his tummy hurts. I gave him some meds last night and this morning, but he’s definitely worse now. I was hoping maybe you could squeeze us in?”

There was a pause on the line. “I’m totally slammed this afternoon,” Charlie said regretfully. “But Darcy’s in today. He’s got some room on his schedule. Want me to see if he can take Henry?”

Lizzie hesitated, one hand tightening slightly on the steering wheel.

“Darcy? He’s the new physician you mentioned a couple of weeks ago, right?”

“Yeah,” Charlie said, “he’s great with kids, Liz. Pediatric critical care background. Just moved here last week.”

Lizzie glanced in the rearview mirror, where Henry had closed his eyes again, his arms wrapped tight around his fox that had waited in the car all day for him.

“Okay,” she said. “If he can see us, I’d really appreciate it.”

“I’ll talk to him now and give you a callback. Just head to the office and I’ll make sure you’re all set.”

“Thanks, Charlie,” she said, her voice tight with worry but laced with gratitude.

She hung up and reached back to gently squeeze Henry’s knee.

“Almost there, baby,” she said, trying to keep her voice upbeat. “We’re going to get you taken care of.”

She turned into the parking lot of Loon Cove Family Medical, her eyes briefly catching on the updated sign out front. Charlie’s name still stood at the top, but now, just beneath it, in freshly painted letters, was William Darcy, M.D.