Almost home

Morning sunlight spilled through the thin curtains like threads of gold, warming the small bedroom. Dust hung in the air, drifting lazily, turning the quiet into something almost sacred. For the first time in days, the house wasn't echoing. It wasn't loud with grief or footsteps or memories that didn't belong to her.

It was just still.

Amy woke first. Her blonde hair, tipped with faded pink, fell into her eyes as she reached for the drawer that held the photograph. Two children smiled back at her—herself and a gap-toothed boy, no older than six, his arm slung around her shoulders like it had always belonged there.

"Still here," she whispered.

She traced his face with her thumb, slow and careful, as if touching the past might pull something loose. The house answered only with birdsong and the soft creak of settling wood. Amy wondered, not for the first time, if the boy in the photo was still alive—or if he had disappeared the same way everything else had.

Downstairs, the smell of toast mixed with strong coffee. Plates clinked. The sound tightened something in her chest. With the memory that her mum used to hum in the mornings, off-key but happy, the radio always playing too loud. This kitchen had no music. Just unfamiliar voices trying to sound normal.

Chloe stirred, blinking sleepily. "You're up early."

"Couldn't sleep," Amy said, slipping the photograph into the pocket of her hoodie, the one that was the only thing that seemed to bring comfort in this world of chaos that they were now having to understand.

"Today might be good," Chloe said, sitting up. "Mrs. Carter said we can go to the park. Maybe meet more kids."

Amy nodded, though her throat felt tight. Chloe always sounded hopeful, even when everything underneath was shaking. Amy admired that about her. I envied it.

They went downstairs together. The kitchen glowed with soft morning light. Mrs. Carter flipped pancakes, humming under her breath. Mr. Rivera stood half-awake by the counter, gripping his coffee like it was the only thing keeping him upright. Jamie and Hugo sat at the table—Jamie quiet and focused, Hugo already bouncing with energy.

"Morning, girls," Mrs. Carter said brightly. "Did you sleep okay?"

Chloe smiled easily. Amy murmured, "Yeah," and sat beside Jamie.

He slid a plate toward her. "Toast?"

Their fingers brushed.

Amy froze.

It was nothing—just skin against skin—but warmth shot through her, sharp and unexpected. She pulled her hand back quickly, cheeks burning, suddenly fascinated by the bottle of syrup.

Hugo grinned. "We're going to the park. You coming, Amy?"

"Maybe," she said softly.

Chloe rolled her eyes. "She is. She just doesn't know it yet."

Jamie smiled, shy and small. "It's not far. I can show you the shortcut."

Something in his voice—gentle, steady—made it easier to breathe. Amy nodded before she could overthink it.

Outside, the air smelled of damp leaves and earth. Chloe and Hugo ran ahead, their laughter loud and careless. Amy and Jamie walked behind them, slower.

He talked about school. About a treehouse he tried to build that collapsed almost instantly. Amy laughed—really laughed—and the sound surprised her. Jamie noticed but didn't comment.

"I like drawing," she said suddenly, the words spilling out before she could stop them. "I just... haven't done it in a while."

"You should start again," he said. "There's a pond at the park. It's kind of my secret place. You could draw there."

"Secret place?"

He nodded. "You can't tell anyone."

She smiled. "Promise."

They walked in comfortable silence, leaves crunching underfoot, the cold biting but clean.

Then a car roared past—too fast, too loud.

The sound slammed into her.

Metal. Screeching tyres. Shattering glass.

Amy stopped dead, her body reacting before her mind caught up. Her breath caught. Her chest tightened like it was being crushed from the inside. The world blurred. She grabbed the fence beside her as memories crashed in—her mum's scream, Chloe crying on the road, the doctor's voice telling them she wasn't coming back.

Jamie turned instantly. "Amy?"

She couldn't answer. Her lungs refused to work.

He didn't touch her. Trying to remember what his mum used to tell him if anyone close to him was having a panic attack. He just crouched nearby, his voice low and steady. "Hey. It's okay. Look at me. In... and out. Slow. Like this."

He exaggerated his breathing, giving her something to follow. "You're not there. You're here. The car's gone."

Gradually, the noise faded. Air rushed back into her chest. Tears spilled freely.

"I'm sorry," she gasped, shame creeping in.

"Don't be," he said quietly. "You didn't do anything wrong."

His words stayed with her.

At the pond, the world softened. The city noise faded until there was only birdsong and water. Sunlight shimmered across the surface, bending and breaking.

"This is it," Jamie said. "My secret corner."

"It's beautiful," Amy whispered.

He knelt by the edge, snapping a photo with his taped-up camera. "I like how water remembers," he said. "Even when the ripples disappear, the light still changes."

Amy crouched beside him. "My mum used to say something like that. Those memories change, but they don't disappear."

Jamie smiled at her. "She sounds smart."

"She was." The word hurt, sharp but survivable. She skipped a stone across the pond. "She taught me that."

They watched the ripples fade.

"It's quiet here," Jamie said. "Like the world forgets to be loud."

Amy nodded. "Quiet's nice."

They walked home slowly, talking about colours, rainy days, and favourite animals. Amy laughed again. When she mentioned foxes, Jamie promised to show her a photo.

Back at the house, Chloe and Hugo burst through the door, red-cheeked and breathless. "Seven goals!" Chloe announced.

Mrs. Carter clapped. "Looks like I'll have to sign you up for a team."

Amy smiled, warmth blooming in her chest.

Then Jamie's phone lit up.

Kelsey: We need to talk.

Amy didn't mean to read it—but the name caught her. Jamie saw it too. His jaw tightened. He deleted the message without a word.

That night, the house settled into a soft rhythm. Laughter drifted from the living room. Dishes clinked. Chloe hummed quietly. Amy sat by the window with her sketchbook, staring at the blank page.

Finally, she began to draw.

The pond. The willows. The light bending on the water. Two small figures near the edge. She made sure the ripples were visible.

She slid the drawing under her pillow.

A knock came.

Jamie stood in the doorway. "Just wanted to say goodnight."

"Goodnight," she said.

He hesitated. "Thanks for coming to the park."

"Thanks for helping me breathe," she blurted.

He flushed. "Anytime."

When he left, Amy lay back down. Chloe slept beside her, hair fanned across the pillow. The wind whispered outside.

The house didn't feel strange anymore.

Amy touched the drawing. Then the photograph.