Later, Lacy brought out dessert, something they’d picked up on the way.
“You didn’t think we’d show up empty-handed, did you?” she said.
“Wouldn’t put it past you,” I joked.
We cut into it together, passing plates around, talking over each other again. The way we used to. The way we always did when things felt right.
At some point, someone asked, “So, what do we do now?”
“Wouldn’t put it past you.”
I looked at all nine of them. Women now.
Strong. Independent. Different in their own ways.
And still… mine.
“We keep going,” I said.
That was it. No big speech.
No dramatic moment. Just the truth.
I looked at all nine of them.
Later that night, after most of them had settled in or started heading out, I found myself back at the kitchen table. Charlotte’s letter was still sitting where I left it. I picked it up again. Ran my fingers over her handwriting.
For years, I thought our story had ended without closure.
But this made me realize that we had just taken different paths.
One of them led right back here.
I smiled to myself. “You always did things your own way.”
I thought our story had ended without closure.
“Talking to Mom again?” a voice said behind me.
I turned. Mia stood there, leaning against the doorway.
“Something like that,” I said.
She walked over and sat across from me. “You know, she used to talk about you.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“Yep. She’d say you were the only person who ever made her feel completely understood.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Sounds like her.”
“Talking to Mom again?”
“She was right, you know,” Mia added.
“About what?”
She smiled. “About you.”
I didn’t respond because I didn’t need to.
Because for the first time in a long time… I believed it.
***
The following morning, I woke up and spent some time thinking. Then I picked up my phone and sent a message to the group chat we’ve had for years. “Breakfast next Sunday. All of you. No excuses.”
