Page 53 of Click of Fate

I lean back into the couch, laptop still open, fingers hovering over the trackpad. The sun’s starting to slip through the blinds, casting long golden stripes across the living room. It’s quiet in that late-afternoon way I still haven’t gotten used to.

Harper’s at work. Lilly’s at school for a few more hours. And me? I’m in the house…alone.

Again.

I thought I’d crave the stillness when I moved here. After years of chasing stories and chasing light, I figured this would feel like rest.

It doesn’t.

It feels like I’ve hit pause. Like I’m waiting for something to start while stalling at the same time.

I’ve started filling the quiet with edits, house projects, long walks to nowhere. Last week I rearranged the bookshelf by color just to avoid checking my email. I’ve baked exactly one pie, burned half of it, and swore never again.

Maybe I do need a dog.

At least then someone would be excited when I walk in the door.

I click back to the gallery email, reading it one more time. My photos, on display. People walking by, stopping, looking. Maybe asking questions. Maybe seeing something in them that even I’ve forgotten was there.

It’s… something.

Something I didn’t realize I missed until I got the chance again.

And for the first time in what feels like forever, I want to share it with someone.

My fingers move before I can overthink it, already drafting a text.

Me:

So, I might be putting my photos in a gallery again.

I hover. Is that too casual? Too random?

I add another line.

Not gonna lie. Kinda scared. But also kinda proud.

I hit send and stare at the screen like it might give me a faster reaction.

He doesn’t respond right away. But I imagine the way he’ll smile when he sees it. That quiet pride he carries in his eyes when I’m not looking directly at him.

And it hits me. I want him to be proud of me.

I want him to see this part of me, too. Not just the girl who snaps pictures or avoids feelings or sneaks out in the morning.

The part of me that used to dream bigger. That’s maybe starting to want to again.

Later that afternoon, Lilly’s bouncing in the backseat of my car, practically vibrating out of her little sneakers.

“Do you think we’ll get to climb the tall wall today?” she asks, hugging her harness to her chest like it’s a stuffed animal. Ruth surprised her with her very own bubblegum pink climbing harness as we gift last week.

“No idea, kid.”

She grins, gapped-tooth and fearless. “I can’t wait to show Luke my harness.”

I don’t respond right away.

My stomach tightens before I even park the car.

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