[25 Day's Home]
The afternoon sun was beginning to dip, casting long, honey-colored shadows across the narrow stretch of lawn between the Combs and Hawthorne houses. Annie dropped her school bag onto her bed, the silence of her room feeling a little less heavy than it had two weeks ago. It had been a month and a half since Lilah passed, and while the grief still sat in her chest like a dull ache, the sharp, jagged edges were starting to smooth out.
She crossed to the window and pushed the glass up, the cool breeze carrying the scent of cut grass. Almost as if on cue, the window directly across from hers slid open.
Ethan was leaning against his sill, his green eyes bright and crinkling at the corners. He had swapped his school clothes for a simple grey hoodie, the sleeves pushed up to his elbows.
"Look at you," Ethan teased, his voice low and melodic across the gap. "Home for five minutes and already at the window. Should I be worried you're stalking me, Annie?"
Annie felt the familiar warmth rise to her cheeks, a shy smile tugging at her lips. "In your dreams, Ethan. I was just letting some air in. Some of us actually have a mountain of English lit homework to get through."
"English lit, huh?" Ethan leaned his chin on his hand, his gaze softening. He didn't push too hard- he knew the balance. He kept his flirting light, like a gentle touch rather than a shove. "You know, if you need a study partner, I'm a professional at 'analyzing themes.' Mostly the theme of why we have to do homework on a Tuesday, but still."
Annie laughed softly. "I think I'll manage. I'm actually looking forward to the reading part."
"I bet you are," Ethan said, his voice dropping to a more intimate register. "You always look so peaceful when you're buried in a book. It's a good look on you."
Annie tucked a strand of long black hair behind her ear, her heart giving a small, fluttery hop. "Thank you, Ethan."
Her gaze drifted to her nightstand, where a small, leather-bound book lay. It was weathered, the edges of the pages yellowed and soft from years of touch. Ethan followed her gaze.
"Is that the poetry book?" he asked.
Annie stood and grabbed the book from her nightstand, padding back over to her window.
The cool evening air flowed between their rooms, a bridge of shared silence that felt sturdier than any wall in the Combs house. Ethan didn't move from his spot on the sill. He simply sat there, his green eyes fixed on Annie with a patience that made the world feel quiet for the first time all day.
Annie smoothed her thumb over the worn leather of the cover. "She used to read these to me when I was little," she said, her voice barely louder than the breeze.
"But seeing her notes in the margins... it's different. It's like finding a map of her head."
She cleared her throat, her fingers trembling slightly as she found the page for tonight. Ethan leaned closer, resting his arms on the ledge. "I'm listening, Annie."
Annie began to read, her voice steadying as the rhythm of the words took over:
"The stars do not weep for the sun when it sets,
For they know the light is merely sleeping.
Memory is the fire that keeps us warm,
While the seasons are busy with their reaping.
Do not look for me in the earth or the stone,
But in the quiet spaces where you feel most alone."
When she finished, she didn't look up right away. She looked at the bottom of the page, where a small, handwritten note in faded blue ink read: "For my Annie, when the house is too quiet."
Ethan took a slow, deep breath. The weight of the words hung in the air between them, a tangible piece of Lilah's spirit. "She really loved you," he said softly. "You can hear it in the way she wrote. It sounds like she was trying to build a shelter for you out of words."
Annie finally looked at him, her blue eyes shimmering. "It's the only thing that makes me feel like I'm not just a 'problem' for people to manage. When I'm reading this, I'm just her daughter again."
"You are never a problem to me, Doll," Ethan said, his voice firm but tender. He wanted to reach across the gap, to pull her back onto the porch blankets- the same ones on the night of his birthday, and shield her from the house behind her. "And you aren't a problem to my mom, or your dad. Some people just don't know how to handle a light that's brighter than theirs."
He offered her a small, lopsided smile- a gentle, flirting spark meant to remind her that he was still there, grounded and real. "So, is this the routine? I get to hear a poem every night now? Because I could definitely get used to this being my bedtime story."
Annie felt a small, genuine warmth bloom in her chest. For the first time since she'd moved back, the house she lived in- with Margaret's hidden agendas and Kyson's desperate need for attention, felt far away.
"Every night," she promised, her voice a little stronger. "As long as you're at your window."
"Try and stop me," Ethan replied, his green eyes glowing with a quiet, fierce devotion. "I'll be right here."
The fragile peace of the window exchange lingered in the air like the scent of the poem until a sharp, rhythmic rapping on the bedroom door shattered it.
"Annie? Dinner is ready. We've been waiting for quite some time."
Margaret's voice carried through the wood, smooth, practiced, and edged with a coldness that never quite reached the ears of the men in the house. Annie gave Ethan a quick, reluctant wave before sliding her window shut. She pulled the sleeves of her oversized sweater down over her palms, ensuring the fabric hid the faint, silvery lines on her wrists, and headed downstairs.
The dining room smelled of pot roast and tension. Dylan sat at the head of the table, his shoulders slumped from a long shift at the hospital, but his blue eyes brightened the moment he saw his daughter.
"There she is," Dylan said, pulling out the chair next to him. "Hard at work on that English lit, I hear?"
"Something like that, Dad," Annie said softly, slipping into the seat.
Margaret stood by the sideboard, her red hair perfectly coiffed, her brown eyes tracking Annie's every move. She set a plate in front of Annie- a noticeably smaller portion than the heaps she'd given Kyson and Dylan.
"I thought you'd want a lighter portion, dear," Margaret said, her smile not reaching her eyes.
"You've been spending so much time sitting in that room lately. We wouldn't want you getting... sluggish. Though, I suppose you get that delicate constitution from your mother's side."
The mention of Lilah was a deliberate needle, a reminder that Margaret viewed Annie's very DNA as a rival.
"Thank you, Margaret. It looks lovely," Annie replied, her voice humble. She kept her gaze on the tablecloth, her heart squeezing at the subtext.
Kyson, usually the first to lob a metaphorical grenade at Annie, was uncharacteristically quiet. He caught his mother's warning glance and quickly adjusted his posture.
"Yeah, pass the rolls, Annie?" Kyson asked. When she handed them over, he added a strained, "Thanks. Good luck with that book report or whatever."
Dylan looked between them, a small, hopeful smile appearing on his face. "It's nice to have a quiet family meal. I was worried things were getting a bit rocky between you kids last week, but I'm glad to see we're moving past it."
"We're a family, Dylan," Margaret said, placing a hand on his shoulder while looking directly at Annie. "Sometimes it just takes a little longer for some people to... fit in. But we're trying so hard, aren't we, Annie?"