WOUNDS WE SHARE

COMING HOME

The airplane descended through clouds like spun sugar, and I traced invisible patterns on the cold window as the world below sharpened into suburbs and the town I once called home.

“You alright?” Jason’s voice pulled me back.

His dark hair was mussed from sleep, worry softening his eyes.

“Just nervous,” I said with a faint smile. “It’s been a while.”

Nine years since I’d really been back, since I fled to my aunt’s, three states away, trying to leave behind the memories in that house.

Jason squeezed my hand, his warmth steady. “They’re family, Rhea. They love you.”

"I know," I whispered. "It's not them I'm worried about."

It was Mom's message from last week that kept replaying in my mind, shattering the fragile peace I'd built.

Dad's getting married! Short notice, I know, but come home for the wedding. He wants all his girls there.

The call had revealed everything: my father, Michael Morgan, a wealthy architect, was remarrying nine years after his divorce from Mom. His coming out as bisexual had fractured our family, not from rejection, but from realizing our childhood had rested on a well-meaning lie.

I still remembered his trembling hands, Mom’s tears, her steady hand on his arm. “I’ve been hiding who I am,” he’d said, voice breaking. “I can’t do it anymore.”

Ava had run from the room. Lila, sixteen then, had cried but hugged him tight. Me? I'd sat frozen, numb, watching another c***k form in my world, this one slow, unlike the violent fracture from the year before.

"Your father seemed nice," Jason offered gently. "From Christmas."

Jason had only met my family once, during a brief holiday visit. With his calm presence and natural kindness, he'd charmed them all.

"He is," I agreed, closing my eyes. "He tried. It just wasn't enough sometimes."

Jason's patient gaze invited more. He never pushed, just made space. It had taken nearly a year before I'd told him about Caleb.

Caleb Ross.

The name alone raised goosebumps on my skin. At nineteen, I'd been repeating my senior year after complications from an appendectomy. He was twenty-four, working as a mechanic where Ava took her car for service.

I remembered his first smile—easy charm, total attention. How special I'd felt, a quiet bookworm obsessed with criminology, catching the eye of a charismatic older guy.

"Looks like rain," Jason said, gesturing toward the window.

I appreciated his subtle redirect. He knew when I was slipping into dark memories.

"The forecast said clear skies," I replied, grateful. "But I don't trust meteorologists."

Jason laughed. "Benefits of being a cop? Trusting no one?"

"Just good sense," I countered with a faint smile.

The captain announced our descent. My stomach knotted again, unrelated to the altitude. Coming back to celebrate Dad's happiness should feel joyful. Instead, dread gripped me.

The plane touched down smoothly; my heart raced. We were here.

"Hey," Jason said, catching my eye. "We do this together. If it's too much, we can get a hotel."

I leaned in for a quick kiss. "How did I get so lucky?"

His smile was soft. "Just by existing. That's enough."

At the rental car counter, I checked my messages: Mom’s confirmation, Lila’s emojis, Ava’s brief reply. Nothing from Dad; technology was never his thing.

The drive home felt like time travel, past the high school where I’d been invisible, the store where Ava caught me buying cigarettes, and the park where I’d had my first awkward kiss.

“Pretty town,” Jason said as we passed tree-lined streets glowing red and gold.

I only hummed. Dad had loved this place for its quiet charm, but to me, it had always been chaos.

"There," I said suddenly, pointing at a small playground. "That's where the police found me with Caleb the last time."

Jason's hands tightened on the wheel. "Only if you want to talk about it."

"I do."

He nodded.

"He was drunk," I said quietly. "Normal for him—drinking, cheating. But that night was different. I'd mentioned college applications out of state. He lost it. Accused me of abandoning him, thinking I was better." I swallowed. "Dragged me out of the car when I tried to leave. Fight in the parking lot; cops came."

The sensations flooded back: rough asphalt scraping skin, metallic taste of blood, Caleb's rage shifting to charm for the officers.

"Without the bleeding, they might have let him go," I said flatly. "My sisters called Mom, who used her connections, the police chief's wife was in her book club. Small-town politics." A bitter laugh. "He only got three years. Good lawyer, clean record, character witnesses."

"And your dad?" Jason asked carefully.

I nodded, watching familiar streets pass. "He didn't know at first. Always distant, even when present. I understand now, he was drowning in his own secrets. Then, I thought he just didn't care."

I remembered that night's explosion: his casual comment about me being withdrawn had triggered something.

"Withdrawn?" I'd screamed. "Try spending a year with someone who loves you then hurts you! Hiding bruises, making excuses, losing yourself piece by piece—while you didn't even notice your daughter disappearing!"

His face had crumbled with horror, guilt, regret. He'd reached for me and I'd collapsed, sobbing.

"He promised to do better," I whispered. "He tried. But then the separation came, the divorce. With Caleb getting out soon..." I shrugged. "Leaving was easier."

Jason squeezed my hand. "Thanks for telling me again."

"Just warning you in case things get messy."

"Rhea," he smiled, using my last name like he did at work, "drama is my breakfast."

I rolled my eyes but smiled back. His ability to bring lightness without dismissing the darkness—that's what I loved about him.

Maple Lane appeared, and then the house. Mom had kept it after the divorce, though she'd remarried and moved. Modest two-story colonial: white siding, black shutters, wide front porch. Mom's flower beds lined the walkway, dormant for the season. Two cars in the driveway: Mom's practical sedan and an unfamiliar blue luxury car—probably Dad's.

"Home sweet home," I muttered as we pulled in.

Before we could grab our bags, the front door flew open and Lila burst out, curls bouncing, practically flying down the steps.

"Rhea!" She crashed into me with teenage enthusiasm, though she was twenty-five now. I hugged her back, laughing despite my tension.

"Hey, squirt," I said, using her old nickname. "Miss me?"

"Every day." She pulled back, studying me. "You look good. Being a cop suits you."

I was about to make a joke when Ava appeared in the doorway, her posture stiff and her smile not quite reaching her eyes. Unlike Lila's casual jeans and sweater, Ava was dressed impeccably in a pencil skirt and blouse, her dark hair styled perfectly—her armor of perfection.

"There she is," Ava said, descending the steps more sedately. She hugged me briefly, her body tense. "Be strong," she whispered in my ear before pulling away, leaving me confused.

She greeted Jason with a polite handshake, and I searched her face for answers. Before I could ask, Lila was grabbing our bags and chattering away.

"Mom's in the kitchen with Daniel, making your favorite lasagna," she explained, leading us inside. "And Dad's here too, of course. He's been helping with wedding stuff all day."

The house smelled the same, vanilla candles and lemon furniture polish. Some things had changed: new curtains, rearranged photos. But it was unmistakably the place where I'd grown up, both comforting and suffocating.

Lila helped us bring our bags to my old bedroom, largely untouched since I'd left. Pale blue walls, bookshelves crammed with forensic science books and mystery novels, the corkboard still pinned with faded concert tickets and photos of friends I rarely spoke to anymore.

"I'll let you guys get settled," Lila said, bouncing on her toes. "Come down when you're ready. Everyone's dying to see you." She paused. "And Rhea? I'm really glad you're here." There was intensity in her eyes that seemed out of place.

Once she was gone, Jason wrapped his arms around me from behind. "You doing okay?"

I leaned back against him. "Something's off. Ava's acting weird, even Lila seems like they're all tiptoeing around something."

"Wedding jitters?" Jason suggested. "Big change for everyone."

"Maybe," I conceded, unconvinced. I turned, pressing a quick kiss to his lips. "Let's go face the music."

We made our way downstairs, following conversation to the kitchen. My mother stood at the counter, hands dusted with flour. Daniel Clarke, her husband of four years, was pouring wine. They both looked up as we entered.

"Rhea!" Mom exclaimed, rushing over for a hug that smelled of garlic and her familiar floral perfume. Sophia Morgan had aged gracefully—still beautiful at forty-seven, only a few silver strands threading through her dark hair.

"Hi, Mom," I said, holding her tightly. Her hugs always felt like safety.

She pulled back, cupping my face. "Look at you. So beautiful and strong." Her eyes glistened. "I've missed you, sweetheart."

"Missed you too," I managed, throat tight.

Daniel stepped forward, giving me a warm hug. Tall, broad-shouldered, salt-and-pepper hair, kind eyes behind wire-rimmed glasses. He'd been Mom's friend for years before the romance, and I'd always liked him. He was good to her.

"The prodigal daughter returns," he teased gently. "And she brought reinforcements." He extended a hand to Jason.

"Good to see you again, sir," Jason said respectfully.

"Daniel, please. We're family here."

The word hung in the air, loaded with meaning. Before I could dwell on it, I heard footsteps and turned to see my father entering the kitchen.

Michael Morgan looked better than I'd seen him in years. There was a lightness to him, brightness in his blue eyes that had been missing throughout my childhood. He'd lost weight, his formerly salt-and-pepper hair now almost entirely silver, cut stylishly.

"Rhea," he breathed, eyes growing misty. Without hesitation, I crossed the room and threw my arms around him.

Whatever complications existed between us, he was still my dad. Still the man who'd taught me to ride a bike, stayed up helping with science fair projects, who despite his struggles, tried his best.

"Hi, Daddy," I whispered, using the childish name I hadn't called him in years.

He hugged me fiercely, trembling slightly. "I wasn't sure you'd come."

I pulled back, forcing a smile. "And miss your big day? Not a chance."

He greeted Jason warmly, falling into easy conversation about the flight. I watched them, grateful for Jason's natural ability to put people at ease.

The kitchen felt almost normal. Mom cooking, Dad and Daniel talking sports with Jason, Lila perched on a stool sneaking tastes. Only Ava's tense silence as she methodically arranged napkins seemed out of place.

I was about to go talk to her when a voice from the doorway froze me in place.

"Rhea? Is that really you?"

The voice sent ice through my veins, a visceral reaction that made my heart hammer. I knew that voice. Had heard it in my nightmares for years. Smooth, rich, with a hint of Southern drawl that had once made my teenage heart race.

Slowly, I turned.

And there he stood. Older, different somehow, but unmistakably him. His dark blonde hair was shorter now, neat rather than shaggy. He'd filled out, no longer lanky but solid, muscular. A thin scar bisected his left eyebrow. But those eyes, those forest green eyes that could switch from warm to freezing in an instant, were exactly the same.

Caleb Ross.

My abuser. My nightmare.

And judging by the way he stood comfortably in my parents' kitchen, the protective way my father moved to stand beside him, the nervous glances being exchanged by everyone in the room, he was also my father's fiancé.