I stopped and laughed through my tears.
“Did you fix that?”
Ethan shook his head.
“I left it.”
“Why?”
“You told me you always jumped over it because you thought stepping on it would bring bad luck.”
I stared at him.
“I was twelve.”
“And apparently very superstitious.”
I laughed again, wiping my eyes.
He unlocked the front door.
“Ready?”
I nodded.
The moment the door opened, the scent of fresh wood and lemon polish drifted into the hallway.
I stepped inside.
The walls had been repainted, but Ethan had kept the original layout. The narrow shelf beside the door was still there, along with the little brass hooks where Dad used to hang his keys.
I touched one of them.
Then I walked toward the kitchen.
And stopped.
Yellow curtains hung above the window.
Not merely yellow.
The exact shade I remembered.
The wooden kitchen table stood beneath them, surrounded by four mismatched chairs.
