Page 60 of Omega's Fire

The entryway smells like lemon polish and vanilla candles, exactly like childhood. But underneath I can still smell Nash somehow even though I’ve showered since. I don’t know if the scent is real or if he is so deeply embedded into me that there is no longer any differentiation between him and me.

“Leo?”

I turn toward the voice, nearly dropping my laptop. Fleur stands halfway down the main staircase, her hand gripping the mahogany banister like she might bolt. She’s huge. The chubby toddler has transformed into a teenager with serious dark eyes and Dad’s stubborn chin.

“Fleur.” Her name scrapes out of my throat. I’ve missed so many years of her life because I’m proud.

She takes the stairs two at a time, launching herself at me before I can react. The impact sends me stumbling backward.

“I missed you so much.” The words rush out against my shoulder, muffled by my jacket. Her arms circle my waist, around the swell of my belly that’s impossible to hide now. “Mom said she was going to get you but I didn’t believe it until I saw you.”

Home. This hasn’t felt like home in a long time.

I return her embrace awkwardly, my hands patting her back like I’m consoling a stranger. Which I am, essentially. The girl hugging me feels like a stranger. I should have been here. Maybe before Dad died, it would have been harder to come back but I don’t have an excuse for afterwards.

“You’re so tall,” I manage, voice thick with emotion.

She pulls back, grinning. “And you’re pregnant.”

“Yeah, well.” I shrug. “Life happens.”

We climb the stairs in single file, Fleur chattering about school and friends. I make the appropriate sounds, but my attention fractures between her words and the family photos lining the stairwell.

They’ve been updated since I left. Fleur beaming in a soccer uniform. Dad’s judicial swearing-in ceremony, his hand on the Bible while Mom and Fleur beam beside him. Another of Fleur, building sandcastles at the beach.

No trace of my existence remains.

“Here we are.” Mom pushes open the door to what used to be my bedroom.

Used to be. It now has neutral beige walls, a queen bed with a floral comforter, and a generic landscape painting that screams “guest room.”

Even the smell is wrong. No lingering trace of my teenage cologne or the incense I used to burn while studying. Just that same vanilla and lemon polish.

“Your father insisted on redecorating after...” Mom’s voice trails off diplomatically.

After I was disowned.

“It’s fine.” The lie tastes bitter. “Thank you for letting me stay.”

She sets my things on the dresser. “You’re always welcome here, Leo. This is your home.”

But the neutral walls say otherwise.

Fleur hovers in the doorway, picking at her cuticles. “I kept some of your books. Dad tried to throw them away but Mom saved them. She said she had to get them out of the trash. They’re in my room if you want them back.”

“Thanks.” I sink onto the edge of the bed, suddenly exhausted. The pregnancy hormones don’t help.

Mom and Fleur exchange glances, some silent communication passing between them.

“I’ll make tea,” Mom announces. “The three of us can catch up properly.”

The kitchen table where we gather hasn’t changed. Same cherry wood, same ladder-back chairs. It feels like I just walked out yesterday.

Mom bustles around the kitchen and that’s where the difference is. She makes tea using her good china and she brings out the shortbread cookies she always made for special occasions. I’m not family. I’m a guest.

“I’m due in January,” I say, one hand drifting to my belly. “A girl.”

Fleur face lights up. “That’s amazing! What’s her name going to be?”

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