Chapter 2: Ghosts in the Hallway

On the day I returned, Michael had taken time off from work to see me. He wore a pressed dress shirt with the tie just barely loosened, his office badge clipped at his waist like he might dash out any second. The Miller house smelled like coffee and Lemon Pledge.

He stood two steps away, trying to sound calm as he talked about old times, nervously folding his hands over his stomach just like he used to.

"Emily’s a lot like you now. But she’s got art lessons with Mrs. Shannon, so she couldn’t come to meet you."

"And Ethan, well…"

He hesitated, looking away at the family photos lining the hallway.

"He was just a baby when you left. He doesn’t remember your face anymore."

Emily is my oldest; Ethan, my youngest. When I fell, Emily was three, Ethan barely a toddler. I still remembered the tiny feel of his fists when I kissed him goodbye that last morning.

It made sense he didn’t remember me. Kids are like rivers—they keep moving forward, no matter what changes on the banks.

Talking about the kids, my heart softened. My hands gripped my purse strap, aching to hold them the way I used to.

During these lost years, Michael remarried, and so did I. The sting of that was sharp, even as I tried to accept it.

But I could never let go of my children. They’d always been the center of my world, no matter how far I drifted.

Michael’s voice dropped, a catch in his words. "You probably heard. Four years ago, I remarried."

I turned to face him, hallway light casting shadows across his jaw, making him look older than before.

When he mentioned Rachel, his face softened, some of the old warmth showing through for just a moment—the boy I once loved, now worn by time.

"Rachel isn’t you. She came later. Her family’s not wealthy. She’s kind of shy and frail. If she makes mistakes, I hope you’ll be patient."

Every word was for Rachel, making it obvious where his heart belonged now.

I was stunned for a second, then managed a quiet reply. "Why would I make things hard for her?" My voice sounded lighter than I felt, echoing in the tile foyer.

They’re happy, and I have my own life. I told myself to focus on what mattered—my kids.

If not for my children still living here, I wouldn’t have come back. My new life in Austin waited for me, but old ties don’t unravel that easily.