Chapter 1 — Homecoming
Emma Carter
Emma Carter tightened her grip on the steering wheel as her car rolled closer to the edge of town, the familiar sight of the weathered “Welcome to Maplewood” sign looming ahead. The peeling paint and the faint outline of graffiti someone had half-heartedly scrubbed away served as a reminder that time had not been kind to this place—or to her. Rolling hills framed the horizon, and the road narrowed, flanked by towering oaks whose branches intertwined overhead, creating a natural tunnel. The late afternoon sky cast a golden glow through the leaves, but Emma barely noticed as her thoughts churned.
The house. Her mother. The fire.
Her chest tightened at the thought of the family home waiting for her up the hill. She hadn’t been back in years—not since her mother’s health had started its slow decline—and her memories of the place were a tangled mess of warmth and sorrow. The house wasn’t just a structure; it was the embodiment of her family’s history, a legacy built on her grandfather’s sweat and love. But now, the thought of its faded walls and crumbling foundation felt more like a weight than a comfort.
Emma passed the old gas station—its faded sign forlornly advertising prices from a decade ago—and a shuttered hardware store, its windows covered in yellowed newspapers. Maplewood was a town frozen in decline, its quiet streets and decaying storefronts reflecting the hard times that had gripped the community. Once a bustling hub of small businesses and family farms, it now felt like a skeleton of its former self.
As she turned onto the gravel driveway, the house came into view, and Emma’s heart sank. The white paint was more gray than anything now, flaking in large patches that revealed warped wood beneath. The porch leaned precariously to the left, and the garden, once her mother’s pride, was overrun with weeds. A tangle of ivy had crept up one side of the house, threatening to swallow a window whole.
Emma parked the car and sat for a moment, staring through the windshield. The place looked smaller than she remembered, as though it had shrunk under the weight of time and neglect. Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath, willing herself to feel the determination she’d carried with her on the drive here. This house wasn’t just a building. It was her family’s legacy, a piece of her grandfather’s hard work, her mother’s love, and now, her responsibility.
Her gaze fell on a wooden bench nestled in the overgrown garden, its once-bright paint now faded and peeling. She could almost see her grandfather sitting there, whittling a piece of wood while telling her stories about the house’s history—how he’d built it with his own hands, how every beam and nail bore a memory. The thought brought a lump to her throat.
“Get it together, Carter,” she muttered, opening the car door and stepping out.
The gravel crunched under her boots as she approached the front steps. She paused at the base of the porch, her eyes tracing the uneven boards. Memories rushed in—her mother sitting in the rocking chair with a book, the two of them shelling peas on a summer afternoon, the laughter they’d shared before everything began to unravel. Swallowing hard, Emma climbed the steps and pushed the front door open.
The scent hit her first—a mix of aged wood, dust, and something faintly sweet, like lavender left too long in a drawer. The familiar creak of the floorboards greeted her as she stepped inside, and for a moment, she stood still, letting the house envelop her. It was as if the walls were whispering their welcome, offering her a fragile connection to the life she’d left behind.
“Emma?” Her mother’s voice, soft and weak, came from the living room.
Emma hurried down the hallway, her boots echoing in the quiet. The sight of her mother sitting in the worn armchair by the window made her heart clench. Her once-vibrant figure had withered, her face pale and lined with exhaustion. But her green eyes, so much like Emma’s, still held a spark of warmth.
“Hi, Mom.” Emma crouched beside the chair, taking her mother’s frail hand in hers.
“You’re here,” her mother said, a smile flickering across her lips. “I wasn’t sure you’d come.”
“Of course I came.” Emma’s voice was steady, but inside, guilt twisted like a knife. She should have returned sooner. She should have done more. “How are you feeling?”
Her mother waved a dismissive hand. “Oh, you know. Same as always. Tired, mostly. But don’t fuss over me, Em. You’ve got enough to worry about.”
Emma bit back a retort, knowing better than to argue. Her mother had always been fiercely independent, even now, when she needed help just to get around the house. Instead, Emma squeezed her hand and stood. “I’ll put some tea on. Then we can talk about what needs to be done around here.”
As she moved toward the kitchen, her mother called after her. “Don’t work yourself to death, sweetheart. The house has waited this long—it can wait a little longer.”
Emma didn’t answer. The house might be patient, but the bank wasn’t. She’d seen the letters piling up on the kitchen counter, their bold red print screaming urgency. Repairing the place was going to take time and money she didn’t have, but the thought of losing it wasn’t an option. Not while her mother was still here, and not while Emma carried the weight of their family’s history on her shoulders.
The kettle screeched, pulling her from her thoughts. She poured the tea and brought two cups back to the living room, setting them on the small table beside her mother’s chair.
“Everyone’s been talking about you coming back,” her mother said, her voice casual but her gaze sharp. “You know how this town is. They’ll have their opinions.”
Emma sank into the couch, cradling her tea. “Let them talk.”
Her mother smiled faintly. “That’s my girl.”
But Emma knew it wouldn’t be that simple. Maplewood had a long memory, and her family’s name had been tangled in the town’s whispers ever since the fire. She could already feel the weight of the stares she’d get at the diner, the questions lurking behind polite smiles. And then there was Luka.
She hadn’t seen or spoken to him in over a decade, not since his brother’s death tore their lives apart. But she’d heard his name enough over the years, always tied to ambition and success. Luka Hayes, the boy who’d once been her closest friend, now a big-shot developer with plans to change Maplewood forever.
Her mother’s voice broke through her thoughts. “You should stop by the diner later. Get a feel for what’s going on around town.”
Emma hesitated. The diner had been her favorite place as a teenager, a haven of greasy fries and milkshakes shared with friends. But now, the thought of walking through its door felt daunting. It would be full of familiar faces, all eager to dissect her return.
Still, her mother was right. She needed to know what she was up against.
Later that evening, the bell above the diner’s door jingled as Emma stepped inside. The warm smell of coffee and frying bacon greeted her, along with a chorus of murmured conversations. Heads turned as she made her way to the counter, the weight of curious eyes pressing down on her.
“Emma Carter,” said a familiar voice. Sally, the diner’s owner, stood behind the counter, her hands on her hips and a knowing smile on her face. “It’s been too long.”
“Hi, Sally,” Emma said, forcing a smile. “Good to see you.”
Sally poured her a cup of coffee without asking, sliding it across the counter. “You’ve got your work cut out for you, don’t you?”
Emma didn’t bother pretending she didn’t know what Sally meant. “Something like that.”
Sally leaned in slightly, lowering her voice. “You know Luka’s back, right? Big plans for the town. He’s been meeting with Ellis.”
Emma’s grip tightened on the coffee cup, but she kept her expression neutral. “Sounds like he’s been busy.”
Sally tilted her head, her eyes sharp. “Busy enough to be asking about a certain house up on the hill.”
Emma froze. The chatter around her faded to a dull hum as Sally’s words sank in.
“Luka Hayes was in here yesterday,” a diner regular said from a nearby booth, his voice low but clear. “Talking about buying up that old Carter place.”
Her blood turned cold. Luka wanted her house? Her family’s home?
Pushing the door open, Emma stepped into the cool evening air, her mind racing. She’d come back to save the house, to protect her mother’s legacy. But now, it seemed she’d have to fight for it—against Luka, against the town, against the past.
As she walked back to her car, the light from the diner’s windows fading behind her, Emma clenched her fists. The house wasn’t just a building. It was her family’s history. And she would do whatever it took to save it.
