Ethan pulled the blanket up over Julia’s tiny frame, tucking her in carefully so she wouldn’t wake up from her slumber… he had to admit though, she looked cute as she slept.
The soft glow of the bedside lamp bathed her face in warm light, her peaceful expression untouched by the burdens of the world.
She had talked his ear off for hours, jumping from one topic to another, barely giving him a chance to respond.
But somewhere in the middle of a long-winded explanation about how dragons were actually just misunderstood, her voice had begun to slur, her blinks had grown longer, and eventually, sleep had taken her.
Even now, as he gently brushed a stray curl from her face, she muttered drowsily.
"…Don’t go…"
Her voice was barely above a whisper, her tiny hands gripping the sheets as if holding onto him in her dreams.
Ethan’s lips curled into a small, genuine smile. He leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to her forehead.
"I’m not going anywhere, Jules," he murmured, even though she had already drifted too deep into sleep to hear him.
Straightening, he turned around to leave — but froze when he spotted Claire standing in the doorway.
Her arms were wrapped around herself, her shoulders stiff.
She looked uncertain, hesitant, like she had been standing there for a while, working up the courage to say something.
Ethan met her gaze, waiting.
"…I just — " Claire stopped, her throat working as she swallowed.
She exhaled shakily and tried again. "I wanted to say I’m sorry."
Ethan remained silent, watching her closely.
She shifted, clearly uncomfortable, but continued. "For everything. For the names, for what I said, for…"
She let out a bitter chuckle and shook her head. "For acting like I hated you when I didn’t. I never did. I was just — " She broke off and sighed, looking away.
"I was mad. And scared. And instead of dealing with that, I pushed you away."
Ethan took a slow breath, his expression unreadable.
Claire clenched her jaw, forcing herself to meet his gaze again. "I don’t expect you to forgive me, I just — I needed to say it." She hesitated. "And… I missed you, Ethan."
The words hung between them, heavy with unspoken emotions.
For a moment, Claire braced herself, as if expecting him to lash out or throw her words back in her face.
She squeezed her eyes shut, her fingers tightening around her own arms.
But instead of anger, instead of resentment — she felt warmth.
Ethan stepped forward, closing the distance between them, and before she could react, he gently pressed a kiss to her forehead.
Claire’s eyes snapped open in shock.
"Goodnight, Claire," he said simply.
And with that, he turned and walked past her, leaving her standing in the doorway, speechless.
Ethan made his way back to the living room, where his parents were waiting.
His mother sat on the couch, hands clasped together on her lap, her fingers twisting nervously.
His father sat in his usual chair, the same book from earlier now resting on the table beside him.
Neither of them spoke as Ethan entered, but the tension in the air was undeniable.
Ethan exhaled through his nose and crossed his arms. "Alright," he said, his voice steady but low. "Let’s talk."
His mother looked up at him, her eyes searching his face. "Ethan…" she started, but hesitated.
She had been so careful all night, tiptoeing around the obvious, afraid of saying the wrong thing.
His father, on the other hand, was less hesitant. "You actually came back." His voice was even, but there was something deeper beneath it. Something old.
Ethan met his gaze, unflinching. "Yeah."
Silence stretched between them.
His mother finally spoke again, her voice soft. "We didn’t know if you ever would."
Ethan clenched his jaw. "I wasn’t sure either."
His father leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees.
He studied Ethan carefully, taking in every inch of him, as if trying to see past the months of distance between them.
"You look different," he said finally.
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Ethan huffed a small, humorless laugh. "Yeah, well. A lot’s changed."
His mother reached out, as if to touch him, but stopped short. "Are you… okay?" she asked hesitantly.
Ethan’s expression remained unreadable. "I’m here."
It wasn’t an answer. Not really.
His mother seemed to realize that, but she didn’t push.
Instead, she just nodded, her lips pressing together tightly.
His father sighed, rubbing a hand down his face. "Ethan, I know we weren’t… there for you the way we should’ve been."
Ethan stiffened slightly, his fingers twitching at his sides.
His father continued. "We should’ve fought harder for you. We should’ve believed in you from the start."
He looked down at the floor. "But we didn’t. And I can’t change that, no matter how much I want to."
Ethan swallowed, something tightening in his chest.
His father looked back up at him. "But I do know that you’re here now. And if there’s even the smallest chance that we can fix this… then I want to take it."
Ethan’s throat felt dry. He forced himself to speak.
"I don’t know if things can ever go back to the way they were."
His father nodded slowly, accepting that. "Maybe not. But maybe they don’t have to."
Ethan didn’t respond right away. He looked over at his mother, who was watching him with hopeful, tearful eyes.
He thought about Julia, curled up in bed, sleepily asking him not to go.
He thought about Claire, standing in that doorway, expecting him to reject her apology.
He thought about himself, about the version of him who had once called this place home.
And finally, he exhaled.
"…We’ll see," he said, his voice quieter now.
His mother let out a small, shaky breath, as if she had been holding it in all night.
His father nodded. "That’s enough for now."
Ethan gave a slow, reluctant nod.
"So how’s work going?" Ethan asked, if he remembered correctly… things were going badly for them.