Laurel

The sun is long gone, but the party inside my house shows no sign of slowing down.

Laughter and music spill through the windows, blending with the soft hum of crickets outside. The air smells like cake and wine, with a faint hint of the gardenias that Emily used to love planting before… before everything.

Balloons bob gently against the ceiling, their ribbons swaying as people brush past. The banner stretched across the living room reads, Welcome Home, Emily, in big bold letters.

Every time I look at it, a lump rises in my throat, threatening to choke me.

Emily is here. Alive, safe, and smiling. She’s by the kitchen counter now, chatting with our parents and a couple of neighbors who dropped by to celebrate.

Her laugh rings out—carefree and bright—and it makes my heart ache. For so long, I’d imagined her trapped in the worst kind of hell, and now she’s standing here, radiant, as if no time has passed.

I should be happy. I am happy. But I feel like I’m floating above all of it, like I’m watching someone else’s life play out.

Sophia is near her, holding a glass of wine and listening to one of my mom’s endless stories. She laughs politely, the corners of her mouth quirking up in that soft, patient way she has when she’s humoring someone.

The sight of her standing there, so composed, so steady, grounds me.

She catches me staring from across the room. Her head tilts, the subtle arch of her brow asking, You okay?

I nod, forcing a smile. But even from this distance, I know she doesn’t buy it. She knows me too well.

A few moments later, she excuses herself and slips through the crowd toward the back door. I wait, holding my breath, watching her retreat. She doesn’t look back, but I know she’s waiting for me.

I wait a few beats before following. The cool night air greets me as I step onto the porch. The yard is quiet and still, the only light coming from the stars scattered across the sky.

Sophia is leaning against the porch railing, her glass untouched beside her.

Her posture is relaxed, but there’s a tension in her shoulders.

“You disappeared,” I say softly, stepping closer.

“So did you,” she replies without looking at me.

For a moment, we stand there in silence, the muffled sounds of the party spilling out behind us.

“Are you okay?” she asks finally, her voice low.

“Yeah,” I lie, though it doesn’t feel entirely true. “Just needed a breather.”

Her dark eyes flicker to mine, searching. “It’s a good party,” she says after a pause. “Emily looks happy.”

“She does,” I agree, my voice barely above a whisper. “It still feels… unreal. Having her back. Seeing her like this. I didn’t think—” My words catch in my throat, the lump rising again. I swallow, forcing it down.

Sophia’s hand finds mine on the railing, her fingers lacing through mine.

“She’s strong,” Sophia says quietly. “So are you.”

I shake my head, a bitter laugh escaping before I can stop it.

“I don’t feel strong,” I admit. “I feel… lost. Like I’m still waiting for the other shoe to drop.”

Sophia’s grip tightens on my hand. She doesn’t say anything, but she doesn’t need to. Her presence is enough.

After a moment, I glance at her. “What about you?” I ask. “What do you want to do now?”

Sophia blinks, startled by the question. She looks down at our joined hands, then out at the dark yard.

“I don’t know,” she says finally, her voice hesitant. “I’ve thought about finding my parents, I guess. Figuring out what happened to them. But…” She trails off, her words heavy with doubt.

“But?” I prompt gently, turning to face her.

Her shoulders slump, and she lets out a sigh. “I don’t know if I can. After everything, I’m just… tired, Laurel. I don’t think I have the energy to go chasing more answers. Not right now.”

My chest tightens at her admission. I know what it’s like to carry the weight of wanting and fearing answers at the same time.

I step closer, reaching up to cup her cheek. Her skin is warm under my hand, and she leans into the touch, her eyes fluttering shut for a brief moment.

“You don’t have to decide now,” I tell her softly. “And you don’t have to do it alone. Whatever you need, I’m here.”

She opens her eyes, and they’re shining with tears.

“You’ve already done so much for me,” she whispers. “More than I could ever repay.”

“You don’t owe me anything,” I say firmly. “I did it because I care about you. Because I—” The words stick in my throat, fear and vulnerability warring inside me. But I force them out. “Because I love you.”

Sophia smiles—a slow, breathtaking smile that feels like the first ray of sunlight after a storm.

“I love you too,” she says, her voice trembling. “I didn’t think I’d ever be able to say that to anyone, but I do. I love you, Laurel. More than you know.”

I step closer, closing the distance between us, and press my lips to hers.

For a moment, everything else fades away—the noise of the party, the weight of the past, the uncertainty of the future. It’s just us, standing under the stars, holding onto each other like lifelines.

When we finally pull apart, our foreheads rest together, our breaths mingling in the cool night air.

“Thank you,” she murmurs, her voice so soft I almost don’t hear it.

“For what?” I ask, my voice barely steady.

“For everything,” she says simply. “For saving me, for fighting for me, for loving me.”

I don’t know how to respond to that, so I kiss her.

Inside, the party is still going strong. Laughter and music spill out into the night, a reminder of the life we’ve fought so hard to reclaim. But that's okay.

I don't want this to end.