Chapter 386
Three months. It doesn’t sound like much when I say it out loud, but standing here at the private terminal, waiting for that jet to open, feels like a lifetime.
I shift my weight for what feels like the hundredth time, my hands sliding into my pockets before I pull them out again a second later. I don’t usually get restless like this. I don’t pace. I don’t wait around wondering what to say or how something is going to go, but today this isn’t something I can control.
I haven’t seen her except through pictures Lilly sent sometimes when she sent me short updates. I haven’t heard her voice. Haven’t had a single conversation with her since the day she left.
The jet door opens and everything in me tightens without warning, making it hard to fucking breathe. For a moment, nothing happens. Then Lilly appears at the top of the steps.
She looks better. So much better than when she left. Not just physically, but mentally as well. There’s something in the way she moves that tells me she’s not carrying the same weight she was when she left.
She spots me almost immediately and lifts a hand in greeting, a small smile forming on her lips as she makes her way down. I return it without thinking, but my attention is already shifting past her.
Ivy appears next. She looks steady and just like Lilly, looks much better. She takes her time coming down the steps, glancing back once over her shoulder before continuing.
Finally Sierra appears and my chest suddenly tightens. Everything inside me locking up.
She pauses at the top of the steps for a second before she starts walking down.
I don’t remember moving, but within seconds I’m already heading toward her by the time her feet touch the ground.
Up close, nothing about her looks drastically different, but when my eyes lock on hers, immediately note it. There’s something different about her. Something I can’t quite place.
“Sierra,” I say as I stop in front of her. “Welcome home p>
She looks at me before replying softly, “Thank you p>
Her voice is the same but when I look into her eyes, panic starts eating at me.
Don’t get me wrong; there is recognition there and awareness unlike when she left, but none of it is deep.
I don’t know how else to describe it, but it’s like something that used to be there just isn’t anymore.
I hold her gaze for a second longer than I probably should, trying to figure out what it is I’m seeing, what it is I’m missing but she’s already looking past me, her attention moving on naturally like nothing about that moment matters.
Lilly steps in beside her, looping her arm through Sierra’s.
“Today we’ll have dinner together. I’ve been dying to have mom’s butternut soup. She says and just like that, the moment passes.
“Car’s this way,” I say, forcing myself to move, gesturing toward the exit.
They follow without question and soon enough we are at the parking. I open the door, help them in before getting in myself and driving.
The drive is quiet at first, but it doesn’t stay that way. Lilly fills the space easily, talking about the trip back, about how long the flight felt, and about something she and Ivy had been discussing earlier. Ivy responds here and there, her tone calm, occasionally asking Sierra small things, trying to keep her engaged.
Sierra answers when she’s spoken to, but unlike before, when she’d dive deep into the conversation, her responses are short and polite.
Nothing more than what’s needed.
I catch myself looking at her in the rearview mirror more often than I should.
She sits by the window, her gaze drifting outside, taking in the passing streets like she seeing them for the first time.
Her expression doesn’t change much. Every now and then, she turns slightly when Lilly says something directly to her, gives a small response and a faint smile, and then she’s looking out the window again.
Lilly laughs at something at one point, and Ivy joins in, the sound filling the car briefly, but Sierra only gives a small, brief smile before it vanishes completely.
I find myself watching for things that don’t happen… She doesn’t interrupt. Doesn’t add to the conversation unless she’s asked. Doesn’t tease Lilly the way she used to, doesn’t push back, and doesn’t react in the way I remember.
She’s there, but just quieter in a way that feels different.
I drag my eyes back to the road, tightening my grip slightly on the steering wheel before forcing myself to relax it again. I try telling myself that she’s only been back for a couple of hours. That she’s gone through loss, that she needs time to adjust before getting back to how she was—but something deep inside me fights all those logic explanations. Something inside me is afraid that this change is permanent. Not bad… but different in a way that shapes someone after they gone through so much.