Chapter 2 — Home Is Where the Heart Is

Rosie

The house was quiet when I stepped inside, the kind of quiet that felt fragile, as if the smallest sound could send the balance teetering. The soft glow of the television flickered across the living room walls, the credits of one of Ava’s favorite animated movies rolling silently, their muted colors dancing across her small, slumbering frame.

I slipped off my sneakers and padded into the living room, the carpet muffling my steps. Ava was curled up on the couch, her little body wrapped tightly in the patchwork quilt she refused to give up, no matter how frayed its edges had become. Her dark curls stuck to her flushed cheeks, and her thumb hovered close to her mouth—a habit she claimed she was too old for but hadn’t quite let go of.

For a moment, I just stood there, watching her. The gentle rise and fall of her shoulders, the faint crease in her brow that made her look as though she was puzzling out the mysteries of the universe even in her dreams—it tugged at something deep inside me. She had a way of pulling me back to center, of making everything else feel lighter, even when it wasn’t.

Kneeling beside her, I adjusted the quilt, tucking it snugly under her chin. She stirred slightly, murmuring something that sounded a little like my name, and then settled again. My hand lingered on her curls, brushing a few away from her face before I let out a quiet breath and straightened.

The faint scent of popcorn hung in the air as I moved toward the kitchen, the remnants of Ava’s snack scattered across the counter. A half-empty bowl perched precariously near the edge, surrounded by a trail of tiny kernels. I grabbed a dishcloth and started brushing them into my palm, the repetitive motion grounding me.

The bracelet on my wrist jingled softly as I worked, the tiny heart charm catching the light above the sink. I paused for a moment, pressing my thumb against the smooth metal. The coolness seeped into my skin, anchoring me—but not without its weight.

Max’s too-familiar smile flickered across my mind, unbidden. The way his eyes had lingered on the bracelet with a look that made my stomach twist. A shiver ran down my spine, unearthing the unease I’d tried to shove aside. Georgia and Lily had been just a few steps away in the rink, yet I hadn’t called out, hadn’t said anything. Why hadn’t I? The thought lodged in my chest like a stone, sharp and unyielding.

Then there was Zack.

His steady voice cutting through the night. The way he’d stood there, no threats, no aggression—just quiet, unwavering strength that left no room for argument. And after, the way he’d looked at me. Like he’d seen something I wasn’t used to being seen. Something I didn’t quite recognize in myself.

I fiddled with the bracelet, my fingers tracing its charms as my thoughts spiraled. It wasn’t like we knew each other. He was Zack Vella—hockey star, town golden boy, the kind of person Georgia would gush about endlessly while I tuned her out. But I couldn’t shake the memory of those piercing blue eyes or the inexplicable sense of safety that had wrapped around me in his presence.

"Rosie?"

Ava’s sleepy voice startled me, pulling me back. I turned to see her standing in the doorway, the quilt draped around her shoulders like a cape. She was rubbing her eyes with one hand, her small frame swaying slightly in her post-dream haze.

"Hey, munchkin. What are you doing up?" I crouched down to her level, keeping my voice soft.

"I couldn’t find you," she murmured, her voice thick with drowsiness. Her bottom lip quivered, just enough to tug at my heart.

I opened my arms, and she shuffled forward, burying her face in my shoulder without hesitation. She smelled like strawberries and the lingering sweetness of baby shampoo—a scent so uniquely hers that it always managed to calm me, no matter how heavy my day had been.

"I’m here," I murmured, stroking her curls gently. My voice wavered just slightly under the weight of those words. "I’m always here."

Ava clung to me for a moment longer, her small arms tightening around my neck before she pulled back, blinking sleepily up at me. Her eyes, still heavy with dreams, searched my face.

"Did you have fun with Georgia and Lily?" she asked, stifling a yawn halfway through her question.

I hesitated, brushing a stray curl from her forehead. "It was nice to see them," I said, offering a small smile. "But my mind was somewhere else."

Ava nodded as though that was all the answer she needed. "Can we have chocolate chip pancakes tomorrow?" she asked, her voice brightening slightly. "With whipped cream and sprinkles? If we have them?"

"Of course," I said, tweaking her nose lightly. "Fancy pancakes it is."

Satisfied, she shuffled back to the couch and climbed onto it, wrapping herself tightly in the quilt once more. I waited until her breathing evened out before I stood, my legs stiff from crouching.

The house was quiet again, save for the hum of the heater kicking on. As I climbed the stairs, the faint creak of the floorboards beneath my feet reminded me of the house’s age, of the patchwork life we’d pieced together within its walls. My room was small, the furniture mismatched and a little worn, but it was mine.

I sat on the edge of the bed, my eyes drifting to the framed photo on my nightstand. It was the four of us—me, Ava, Mom, and Dad—taken at the community park on one of those rare afternoons when everything felt whole. My fingers traced the edges of my mother’s face, her wide smile frozen in time, her eyes crinkling at the corners in the way I’d always loved.

A memory surfaced, sharp and bittersweet: Mom sliding the bracelet onto my wrist for the first time. Her hands warm against my skin as she said, "It’s more than jewelry, Rosie. It’s a reminder. Of love. Of family. Of strength."

"I’m trying," I whispered into the quiet, the words barely audible even to myself. "I’m really trying."

The bracelet caught the light again as I slid it off, its charms gleaming faintly despite their wear. Responsibility. Love. Loss. It all felt tangled up in those tiny, delicate pieces of metal. I placed it carefully on the nightstand beside the photo and lay back on the bed, staring up at the ceiling.

The night replayed itself in fragments—Max’s leer, Zack’s steady voice, Ava’s sleepy smile. What had Zack seen when he looked at me? Just a girl in an uncomfortable situation? Or something else? The thought felt ridiculous, and yet it lingered, stubborn and unshakable.

Light from the streetlamp outside filtered through the curtains, casting faint shadows across the ceiling. I turned onto my side, curling into myself as I let my eyes close. Zack’s voice and those piercing blue eyes stayed with me, even as sleep began to pull me under.

Whatever it was, I knew it wasn’t the end of it. Not yet.

And maybe, deep down, I didn’t want it to be.