Chapter 1. Rebuilding, Not Just Unpacking

January 8th, 6:32 AM

I shouldn’t have expected this morning to go smoothly.

But I did.

I told myself it would be fine, that today was just another morning, just another first day, just another small step forward.

But then—

“Mom, why did we have to move here?”

Jessica’s voice slices through the quiet. Sharp. Demanding. Too loud for the early hour, too loud for my not-quite-awake thoughts. And then—the slam of a door. Footsteps pounding down the stairs.

She’s coming.

I wrap my fingers around my coffee mug—Dan’s old favorite, the one that still says World’s Best Engineer even though the letters have faded, like the memory of his voice.

I should throw it away.

But I don’t.

Jessica storms into the kitchen, hair catching the weak morning light, her expression carved from something harder than anger.

She’s wearing a green jacket. Not hers. Two sizes too big.

“You got everything? Books, phone, lunch mo—”

“I’m not five, Mom.”

An eye roll. An earbud shoved in.

I swallow. “I just want you to be settled. It’s a new school—”

“Exactly.” Her hand fists in the jacket’s sleeve. “New people. A new life I never asked for.”

She’s daring me to argue. But the unspoken pain in her voice stops me cold.

I reach out, instinct more than anything—just to tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

She jerks away. Like I burned her.

“Jess—”

“It doesn’t matter.” She shoves in the second earbud. “Nobody here knows me. Isn’t that the whole point?”

I open my mouth, but—

Music. Too loud. Just another wall between us.

In the doorway, Tom hovers, backpack half off his shoulder. He gives me this wide-eyed, 'is everything okay?' look.

He’s taller than me now. When did that happen? He still has Dan’s gentle warmth, though. That hasn’t changed.

“Mom? We could wait. I mean, it’s the first day. No rush—”

We can’t keep hiding from the world. I don’t say it out loud. Instead, I shake my head and pull him into a quick hug.

“You and Jess are going to be amazing.”

I force the words into existence. Try to believe them.

He nods, but I see the doubt lingering in his eyes.

“Text me at lunch?”

A pause. Then, “Yeah, Mom. We’ll let you know.”

I glance at Jessica. She doesn’t answer.

I don’t expect her to.

Then—CLICK.

The door shuts.

Too loud.

Too final.

6:48 AM

The kitchen is too quiet now.

I stare at the untouched breakfast—Jessica’s cold toast, Tom’s half-eaten cereal. The silence presses against my ribs.

Did I do the right thing dragging them here?

On the checklist, it’s flawless—top-notch schools, peaceful neighborhood, a chance to reinvent. But checklists overlook the tension in Tom’s voice and the heartbreak in Jessica’s silence.

(By all the facts, this was the smart move: a safer neighborhood, better schools, a new start. But facts don’t ease the hurt in Jessica’s eyes or the worry shadowing Tom’s face.)

I exhale. Wash the coffee mug out slowly. Lavender soap bubbles slide between my fingers. The scent is too delicate, too new, too unfamiliar.

I glance at the boxes in the living room. The ones I haven’t touched yet.

No more excuses.

I grab a box cutter from the counter, hesitating over the one marked Photos.

Dan always handled this part. “I’ll handle it. We both know you’ll overthink it and end up making a mess.”

He’s not here to do it.

The tape peels back too easily. One slice. One moment. And suddenly, it’s open.

Inside—stacks of old pictures. Glossy, faded, held together by a brittle rubber band.

Tom, lopsided on a tricycle. Jessica, beaming over a gold-star report card.

And then—a note.

Crumpled. Ragged. Like it’s been stuffed in a pocket, forgotten, pulled out too many times.

I unfold it slowly.

Dan’s handwriting. I’d know it anywhere.

> Don’t cry, nerd.

Bold. Underlined. Below it—a stick figure version of me, tears pouring from cartoon eyes. Drama Queen written underneath in big, teasing letters.

The laugh comes out of nowhere.

Sharp, awkward, real. Loud enough to startle the silence.

God, Dan. You’re such a jerk.

But the weight on my ribs shifts, just slightly.

Like he’s still here.

Like maybe, somehow, he never really left.

I fold the note. Tuck it back into the box, safe among the memories.

When I close the box, it doesn’t feel so scary anymore. It feels… manageable.

Then, I grab my phone from the counter and open the group chat with Tom and Jessica.

me: Family movie night. My treat. Don’t be late.

Jessica won’t answer. I know that.

But Tom replies in seconds.

Tom: Sure, Mom. Picking the movie. Jess can deal.

I drop my phone on the counter, exhaling.

Then—buzz.

I glance at the screen.

Jessica.

Jessica: Tell Tom if he picks some superhero garbage, I’m moving out.

I snort.

me: You’re 16. Where are you moving to?

Jessica: Away.

Jessica: To a house with no stupid movie rules.

I shake my head, pocketing my phone.

At least she’s still fighting with us. That’s something.