Page 47 of The Edge Of Us

She looked down at Astrid, who was now drooling contently on her sweater.

"Maybe someday."

The sun was starting to dip, and Jasper gave a small wave from a distance, signaling he was heading out. Brittany gently handed Astrid back to me.

"I'll see you at dinner?" she asked.

"Yeah," I said softly. "I'll save you a seat."

She smiled and followed her brother out of the garden.

I looked at my mom, who was already watching me with a small, knowing smile.

"He's handsome," she said casually.

I rolled my eyes. "Mom."

"I'm just saying. The way you looked at each other-"

"It was a handshake."

"Mmm. Sure. Just a handshake."

I turned away, but my cheeks burned with heat.

It was nothing. Just a moment. But the spark still lingered in my fingers.

And for the first time in a long time... I didn't mind.

Chapter 28

Corine

I woke up to the soft rustle of the curtains in my room. Light spilled in, warm and golden, the kind that didn’t feel invasive, but welcoming. It was the kind of morning I hadn’t had in years—the kind that promised freedom.

Today, I was going home.

A year ago, that would’ve seemed impossible. I was fractured, drowning, trapped in the walls of my own mind. But now, after months of therapy, breakdowns, healing, and learning how to live again, I was ready. I wasn’t fixed—because healing doesn’t mean you’re perfect. But I was whole enough to start again.

Doctor Bennett came by yesterday and said, “You’ve done exceptionally well, Corinne. Your psychosis is under control, and you’re stable. Of course, therapy continues at home, but I trust you. You’re ready.”

I still replayed those words in my mind like a lullaby.

I sat up slowly, breathing in the scent of sterile cleanliness and faint lavender. My things were packed in a small suitcase by the bed. My eyes fell on the photo taped to the wall—Kyle grinning, his gap-toothed smile lighting up the frame, and Astrid in my mother’s arms. Her chubby cheeks had grown in the past year, and I missed every inch of her growth. But I was there for her first birthday. In the courtyard, with makeshift balloons, a paper crown, and Tate making balloon animals with all the wrong shapes.

I let out a soft laugh at the memory.

Kyle’s fifth birthday had been louder, rowdier. He’d insisted on a dinosaur theme, and Sylvia painted all our faces while Brittany, despite her own battles, helped bake a cake. It had collapsed in the middle, but he loved it. I held onto those moments like a rosary, counting them on nights I couldn’t sleep.

My door creaked open.

"Hey," Brittany said, her head peeking in. Her frame was still slim, but healthier now. She had color in her cheeks again. Her oversized hoodie swallowed her as usual, sleeves covering her hands. She shuffled in, clutching her plush unicorn—Whimsy—under her arm.

I smiled. "Morning, Brit."

"You're leaving," she said, frowning slightly.

I nodded. "Yeah... it's time."

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