The edge of us

Shadows of Ridgewood

The taxi crawled through Ridgewood’s quiet streets, the hum of its engine the only sound in the stillness of the town. Mia leaned against the window, her fingers tracing patterns on the fogged glass. Nothing had changed. Same rows of white picket fences. Same storefronts with their outdated signs. Same eerie calm that always made her feel like the world stopped moving here.

“Back for a visit?” the driver asked, breaking the silence.

“Something like that,” Mia said without looking away from the window.

“Ridgewood’s good at keeping people,” he said, chuckling as he turned a corner.

Mia’s stomach twisted. “Not everyone.”

The driver didn’t reply, and Mia let the silence settle back in. She didn’t want to talk, not to him, not to anyone. The train ride had been enough of a social interaction for the day.

Her mind flicked back to Ethan. His easy confidence, his pointed questions, the way he seemed to see more than she wanted him to. She told herself it didn’t matter. Ridgewood was small. She’d probably run into him again. Or maybe she wouldn’t.

She wasn’t sure which thought unsettled her more.

The car pulled up in front of her childhood home, a two-story colonial with a wraparound porch and shutters that hadn’t been repainted in years. The porch light was on, casting a warm glow that didn’t match the knot in her chest.

“That’ll be twelve-fifty,” the driver said, pulling her out of her thoughts.

Mia handed him a twenty. “Keep the change.”

He tipped his hat in thanks, but she was already out of the car, her bag slung over her shoulder. She stood at the edge of the driveway, staring at the house. The same hydrangeas lined the walkway. The same rocking chair creaked on the porch, pushed by the faint evening breeze.

Her hand hovered over the door handle for a moment before she pushed it open.

Inside, the smell of baked chicken and rosemary greeted her, along with the sound of clinking dishes from the kitchen. Her mother’s voice floated through the air.

“Mia? Is that you?”

She took a deep breath and stepped inside, letting the door click shut behind her.

“Yeah, it’s me,” she called back, her voice hollow.

Her mother appeared in the doorway, wiping her hands on a dishtowel. “You’re late.”

“By five minutes.”

Her mother frowned but didn’t push further. “Dinner’s almost ready. Go wash up.”

Mia nodded, dropping her bag by the stairs before heading to the bathroom. The familiar creak of the floorboards beneath her feet sent a strange chill through her.

She splashed water on her face and stared at her reflection in the mirror. She looked tired. Or maybe it was something deeper. The kind of exhaustion that came from carrying too much for too long.

Her phone buzzed in her pocket. She pulled it out, expecting another text from her mom.

But it wasn’t.

Unknown Number: “Welcome back to Ridgewood.”

Her heart skipped. She stared at the message, her mind racing.

Before she could think of a response, a voice behind her made her jump.

“Still take forever in the bathroom, huh?”

She turned sharply, her heart pounding.

“Ethan?”

He was leaning casually against the doorframe, the same easy smirk on his face.

“What are you…”

“I told you I was from Ridgewood,” he said, cutting her off.

“That doesn’t explain why you’re here. In my house.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Your mom invited me.”

Her head spun. “Why would she”

“Mia?” Her mother’s voice echoed down the hall. “Come on, dinner’s ready. Ethan, don’t let her hide in there all night.”

Ethan stepped aside, gesturing for her to lead the way.

“Looks like we’ve got some catching up to do,” he said, his tone laced with something she couldn’t quite place.

Mia clenched her fists, trying to steady her breath. She didn’t like this. She didn’t like him being here. And she really didn’t like the feeling that this wasn’t a coincidence.

But as she walked past him, she couldn’t shake the weight of his gaze on her back,

or the sinking feeling that coming back to Ridgewood had been a mistake.