The walk to Jane’s family house was quieter than usual. The autumn air carried the scent of wood smoke and fallen leaves, and golden sunlight filtered through the trees lining the quiet suburban street. Jayden’s steps, normally steady and confident, dragged slightly against the pavement—each footfall heavier than the last. His hands—usually composed, folded neatly at his sides—were clenched into tight fists, faint tremors running through his fingers as he tried to keep his nerves in check.
Jane noticed immediately. She’d been watching him out of the corner of her eye, her own mind racing with memories of family gatherings past—always tense, always full of judgment. She slowed her pace, turning to look at him with a soft, reassuring smile.
“Hey,” she said gently, reaching for his arm and
