Mom.
He had said it easily.
Naturally.
Then, for just half a second, I saw panic flash across his face.
He glanced at Emma.
The old fear had returned.
Would calling me Mom hurt his sister?
Would loving me mean betraying her?
Emma rolled her eyes.
“You’re both annoying.”
Then she pointed at me.
“Fine. Ask your mom. See if I care.”
Your mom.
Luke blinked.
Emma had said it like it was nothing.
Not a betrayal.
Not a competition.
Just a fact.
And suddenly Luke laughed.
A real, surprised laugh.
The sound of someone realizing the disaster he had feared his entire life wasn’t coming.
Seconds later, he and Emma were arguing about the hammer again.
Like siblings who had never been separated at all.
I stood on the porch holding a tray of lemonade and listened.
The house wasn’t silent anymore.
For three years, I had walked through empty rooms carrying grief no one could see.
