Viv:
The house was a blur of noise and motion before the sun even cleared the trees.
Blow dryers buzzed behind bathroom doors. Cabinet doors slammed in search of coffee mugs and cereal bowls. Someone was singing off-key down the hallway—Gia, probably—and someone else was fussing over an outfit. I couldn’t tell if it was Sadie or Mica. They all had a way of mothering one another now, and it made my chest ache in the best way.
Knox and I stood in the kitchen, side by side, two mismatched mugs between us and a kind of stillness anchoring the chaos. His arm brushed mine every so often, warm and solid. He didn’t say much, but he didn’t need to.
We watched them move through the morning like women on the cusp of something new. Not survivors anymore. Not broken. Not forgotten. Just… living.
A
