Jax's P.O.V.
The sound of car doors slamming outside signaled Sam's Mom’s return, and I was out the front door before anyone could ask. She stood by the trunk of her car, already juggling a few bags while trying to shut it with her elbow.
“Need a hand, Mom?” I asked, jogging over.
“Don’t just stand there, Jax. Take these before I drop them,” she said with a smile, shoving two heavy bags into my arms.
Sam appeared behind me, her hair catching the sunlight as she stepped down the porch steps. “I’ll grab the rest,” she offered, moving past me to the trunk.
“Thanks, sweetheart,” Mom said warmly.
We carried the groceries into the house in a coordinated rhythm, navigating the narrow hallways and tight corners without a word. It felt almost normal—almost easy—like the tension from earlier h
