gate.
“It is,” I said.
“I can fix it.”
I almost declined. Then Grace appeared behind me and asked, “Is that Uncle Ryan?”
He looked surprised. I’d never introduced him that way, but Lily had apparently shown Grace an old family photo.
“I guess I am,” he said, crouching to her level.
Grace studied him before asking if he could repair swings. Ours squeaked, she explained with the seriousness of someone hiring a professional.
“Sounds serious,” he said.
She took his hand and guided him toward the backyard. Ethan joined me and asked whether I was okay. I nodded, watching Ryan pause beside the garden.
He glanced back at the upstairs windows, toward the rooms Mom had once promised away without permission.
“For what it’s worth, I called the landlord,” he said.
“What did he say?”
“He never processed our notice. Mom only told me she mailed it.”
Of course she had. Ryan shook his head, chuckled quietly, and followed Grace to the swings.
I remained in the doorway. Lily worked on homework at the breakfast nook, Ethan unpacked groceries, and Grace directed repairs outside.
Ryan wasn’t moving in. He’d offered to repair something, and I’d allowed him the opportunity. That was enough for one Saturday.
For the first time, family no longer sounded like an obligation I owed. It meant the people who lived here, the choices we made together, and a door I was finally free to open myself.
