The morning light cut across the floorboards.
Jesse stood in the center of the living room, looking around like he was seeing it for the first time.
No furniture.
No father.
Just air. And dust. And the sound of me zipping our bag behind him.
"You ready?" I asked.
He nodded, but didn't move.
His fingers brushed the old doorframe.
The one his height had once been marked on, years ago.
Scratched out in a different lifetime.
I stepped behind him. Touched his back.
"You don't owe this place anything."
"I know," he said.
"But I owe myself the truth."
He turned to me.
And smiled—
not because he was happy.
But because he was whole.
---
We stood on the porch.
One last time.
He handed me the keys.
I stared.
"You sure?"
"I don't want them," he said.
"I have everything I want standing in front of me."
---
I looked at him.
No walls.
No weight.
No chain around his neck, because it was now around mine.
And in the softest voice I'd ever heard him use, he said—
"Kade…"
I blinked.
"Yeah?"
"You're home."
---
Not "You feel like home."
Not "You make me feel safe."
Not "I love you."
You're home.
A name.
A place.
A vow.
---
We drove away without looking back.
The house didn't follow us.
The past didn't cling.
The sun was warm, and his hand was firm around mine.
---
And for the first time in our wild, broken, beautiful story—
we weren't running anymore.
We were just… living.
Together.
Unapologetically.