When I opened my eyes, Ethan was standing a few feet away, giving me space.
I held out my hand.
He took it.
“You did all this for me?”
He nodded.
“Why?”
He looked toward the house.
“Because every time you talked about your father, you talked about that place. Not about the furniture or the size of the rooms. You talked about the kitchen, the birds, the swing, and those marks on the doorway.”
He squeezed my hand.
“You never stopped missing it.”
I looked down at the grass.
“Sometimes I felt silly for caring so much. We were only there for twelve years.”
“Those were your first twelve years.”
I looked at him.
He continued.
“That’s where you learned what home felt like. There’s nothing silly about wanting to remember that.”
My eyes filled again.
I leaned forward and kissed him.
Then I remembered something.
“The check.”
Ethan’s smile faded slightly.
