Noah
The hum of the car blends with Nolan’s off–key singing from the backseat, a tune I couldn’t place but one he’s singing with so much conviction I didn’t have the heart to stop him.
Beside him, Nova is trying to braid her doll’s hair while instructing her brother, rather loudly, that he’s singing it wrong.
“It’s la–la–la, not na–na–na, Nolan,” she insists, her tone carrying all the authority of a five–year–old who believes she’s queen of the world.
He rolls his eyes but keeps singing, and louder this time. “You’re wrong, Nova. I’m the big brother. I know everything.”
“You’re only eight minutes older,” she shoots back.
I chuckle under my breath, glancing at them in the rearview mirror.
“Dad, when can we go to the toy store again and buy a new set of Legos?” Nolan asks, eyes bright in the rearview mirror.
“When you finish the one you already have,” I reply, one corner of his mouth lifting.
“But I already finished it,” Nolan protests.
There is no denying that the twins are mine. They have that stubborn streak that runs in the Wood family. Once they set their mind on something, they stubbornly go after it.
“You finished building it,” Nova chimes in without looking up. “But then you made it a spaceship and broke it.”
I chuckle as Nolan groans in defeat.
These were the moments I live for–simple, unfiltered and filled with the kind of warmth nothing else could buy.
They never fail to make my day. No matter what happens, coming home to them? Watching them? Loving them? Always has a way of easing the heaviness in my heart and lighting the darkness that has surrounded me since Chloe died.
We pull into my parents‘ driveway, the familiar sight of the big house instantly easing the knots in my shoulders.
Fridays meant dinner. It’s been a tradition since I can remember. It doesn’t matter what you are doing or where you are, Friday dinners are a must.
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Chloe used to love them because Mom always taught her new recipes, plus she got to bond with everyone. While I would drag my feet and insist on arriving later, she always wanted to arrive earlier. I used to grumble about it but now I miss those moments. Now, I’d even arrive three hours earlier if it meant she got to stay with me.
Before I could even unbuckle my seatbelt, Nolan and Nova were already scrambling out, racing up the porch steps. Their laughter echoed through the front hall before the door even closed behind them.
“Grandma! Grandpa!” I hear them shout for their grandparents.
I linger a moment, leaning against the car. The air is cool against my skin, but it does nothing to ease my
worry.
Sierra hasn’t called. She hasn’t shown up at my office again, nor has she texted. Not a word. I’d expected her to push relentlessly until I gave her the answer she wanted. Instead, silence. And somehow, that
silence weighs heavier than her voice ever could.
My mind came up with all kinds of scenarios. What if she’s biding her time, waiting for the perfect time to strike? I wouldn’t put it past her. She’s a snake and I don’t know how others can’t see her for what she is. She’s probably waiting for the perfect time to ruin my life. I won’t let her. She will never take Chloe’s place. I’ll die before I let her into my life.
Pushing thoughts of her aside, I get in. Inside, the scent of roast chicken and fresh bread pulls me toward the kitchen. I barely make it three steps before a blur of motion leaps onto my back.
“Gotcha! Guess who?”
I didn’t even have to guess; even blindfolded I’d still know her.
“Iris,” I laugh, swinging my youngest sister off my back and setting her on her feet.
She’s grinning, cheeks flushed, wearing one of those oversized sweaters she practically lives in.
“You’re getting old,” she teased. “That spin used to be faster.”
“Maybe you’re just getting heavier.”
At seventeen, it’s uncanny how similar Iris looks to our mom. She’s the spitting image of mom if Mom had blue eyes, which she got from her father.
Technically speaking, Iris is my half–sister, but to me she’s always just been my sister. From the first time I saw her when mom was in a coma, I knew I would protect her with everything I’ve got.
“I missed you,” she says, linking her arm through mine like she isn’t planning to let go.
“You saw me last week,” I remind her.
“Yeah, so,” she declares. “I still missed you.”
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Before I can respond, Emery and Olivia appear, the two of them talking over each other as they wrap me in a hug.
“You don’t call enough,” Emery complains.
“I literally called you two days ago,” I say.
“Still not enough,” Olivia chimes in, giving my arm a playful punch. “I want to hear from you every single
day.”
I laugh, holding all three of them close for a moment before they reluctantly let go. For all our bickering, I couldn’t deny how much I love them.
Our age gap is glaring, given I’m twenty–seven, while Emery and Olivia are Fifteen and thirteen, respectively, but we are all still close. All three of them have my heart in the palm of their hands and I would do anything for them.
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